This is a story of visiting, and revisiting Lindisfarne. It’s also about the memories you make and share. I started telling this story last year, in this post. (Oooh looksee, weird title synchronicity. I had no memory of the title of that post and spent ages searching for it, but there you go…)
The song of the seals lodged somewhere deep inside my mind before I ever heard it, just from the telling. And after I’d heard it, I was never quite the same person again.
I so badly wanted to share the seal song with an other; someone who matters very much to me. I told her of it, wrote words down on paper to send, trying to convey the indescribable. We travelled north together, in the very depths of winter, our journey fuelled by my desire to share this magical thing with her. The seals didn’t sing. I didn’t say anything, but I felt I’d failed, because I couldn’t bring her this magical gift I wanted to share. It took me months to realise that journey had been a success after all- as we shared, over and over, the memories of what did happen, with no regrets for unsung songs.
Today, the seals sang once more. I wished she was there to share it. But today, there was no feeling of failure. Maybe I’d finally grown enough to listen, and understand what the seals sang. And one day we’ll sit on that beach and hear them sing our song together.