I was a little lost, lacking something, seeming to be a little

Loose at the seams, at a loose end, low spirited

Lackadaisical, footloose but far from fancy free

Faltering, frustrated, fed up with the familiar

Feeling like a foreigner, a foundling, a fraud.

Old friends who had found a family home in Findhorn

(Fine for them) referred us to Facebook.

On offer was a fortnight in a whisky barrel.

What did we find?

We found Findhorn

 

Extract from a poem by Richard Medrington which was read at Mary Inglis’s 80th Birthday Sharing.

To read this poem in full please click here.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

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