Oh England, my Lionheart
I watched Pride and Prejudice at last. Why this should suddenly make me violently homesick I cannot tell. After all, it is a Regency setting, not a period I ever admired. Yet I am slain with grief for what I can't have. I know this feeling is a lie, that I want a phantasm, a past I never really knew, a time and place not truly mine. I want to go back to "my" Parsonage.
I wonder what it looks like now, that Parsonage, and if I would cry to see it as a tourist destination, full of Japanese groups and "Branwell Brandy" or some other sick-making commercialization of artistic pain for sale. I long to go and see it even while I flinch from what it has become.
But it is still home, an echo of a time that cannot come again, and I would see it again before I die.
I wonder what it looks like now, that Parsonage, and if I would cry to see it as a tourist destination, full of Japanese groups and "Branwell Brandy" or some other sick-making commercialization of artistic pain for sale. I long to go and see it even while I flinch from what it has become.
But it is still home, an echo of a time that cannot come again, and I would see it again before I die.