I’m back in a place I love. I haven’t been here for eight years and my first impression on arrival was how beautiful it is. I had forgotten. An hour north of Seville, tucked into the side of a wooded valley with long views to distant hills and a lake, the house is surrounded by cork and chestnut woods. It has a large sunlit central courtyard, a generous kitchen and dining terrace, and below, a magnificent pool reflecting a cloudless Andalucian sky.
We’re on retreat here, nine writers, nine friends. It’s day three of four and last night we walked twenty minutes into the local town to have dinner. On the way back, along a darkened country road, I found myself bringing up the rear with Neil, with whom I’m running the retreat. I talked about the growing feeling I’ve had of late that I need to resurrect the blog I wrote every week for nine years.
Why ‘need’? Because I’m coming to the end of what I realise now is a seven-year cycle of writing about, and for, other people. I miss the inner connections that my weekly ruminations allowed me to make. The whole processs grounded me. It was important to my wellbeing. It helped me figure things out (‘How do I know what I think until I see what say?’ asked EM Forster). And it made me feel I was continuously polishing a particularly precious facet of my craft. I miss the outer connections too, if I’m honest. People’s responses brought me pleasure and a welcome weekly shot of energy.
‘Maybe I should start collecting up some topics,’ I said to Neil as we walked. I didn’t think, in the moment, that I was prevaricating, but he knew exactly what I was up to. He laughed. ‘Maybe you should just dive in.’
So … here I am, paying heed to Neil, back in the water, and after a gasp it’s starting to feel warm, familiar; as familiar as the sunny courtyard in front of me now, where, over the years, I’ve witnessed many moments of insight, intense emotion and sometimes even personal transformation. There has been much laughter and joy and tears, and a powerful sense of fellowship.
It feels like an opening of the heart, an allowing of oneself to experience deep connections, not just to people but to place, too. I wrote yesterday that being here awakens in me a great urge to lose myself in the rhythm of the world – the slow regulating pulse of all living things. Chestnuts hang in profusion, ready to fall. Small birds swoop and soar, enchanted by clear air and strong autumn sunlight. A long walk took us down shaded paths and past wooded pastures where white cattle craned for the low leaves of olive trees, and inquisitive Iberian pigs, black and dusty, trotted over to inspect us as we passed.
There’s a stillness in this place which echoes the inner stillness I used to achieve through the weekly writing regime, and which I crave increasingly again. Perhaps it’s an unconscious reaction to ageing and a growing urgency to complete things; perhaps it’s a response to the sheer awfulness of so much that is going on in the world; perhaps it’s just a selfish wish to feel more complete. Whatever it is, being here summons the memories of so many moments of connection, echoed in those equally connecting moments of the A Few Kind Words writing years (the ‘kind‘ of the title a nod to our kinship as human beings, our shared humanity).
It leaves me feeling that at the very heart of it all, the binding and anchoring force, is nothing more or less than love.
A Few Kind Words 
be selfish. be complete. connect and be in nature.
wonderful to have you back… what a very nice surprise to find this pop into me email over a late breakfast!
I think this is a delightful way to steel against the awfulness going on in the world.
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Thanks Carolyn. I always love the spontaneity of your response!
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Please do write your blog again, I miss reading it so much.
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Hello again!
‘Small birds swoop and soar, enchanted by clear air and strong autumn sunlight.’
We haven’t met but how good to find you in my inbox again. Your weekly missives are a source of light and joy. Great to see you back in the water.
All the best Westrow
Westrow Cooper
m: +44 7736 120951 e: westrowc@gmail.com the proust edition https://proustedition.substack.com/
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Thank you, Westrow. Will do my best to keep afloat for a bit longer!
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Please do restart your blog, I have missed reading this. Until I read this, I hadn’t realised quite how much I have missed it.
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Thank you. I hadn’t realised quite how much I missed it either!
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Ya dancer! Welcome back. Soaking up your thoughts and words is like supping big warm bowl of soup on a cold day!
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Awww! Been thinking about our Shakespeare adventures recently, what a hoot they were.
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Welcome back Jamie. I missed those few kind words. I’d like to hear more.
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Thank you, Mike. You will, you will!
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This really does feel like a long-lost friend appearing after an absence. So pleased that your kind words are back, Jamie. Here’s to kin, to kindness, to connection.
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Thank you, Heather. Loved our time in Spain!
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Hi Jamie,
So nice to hear from you again!! 🤗
Please also say hi from me to Neil – whom I know from several lifetimes ago… 👋
Warmest wishes,
Betti
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And you too, Betti. Thanks for being in touch!
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… and Neil sends his best!
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With all the madness that is going on in the world, it is wonderful that we will get your sane reflections – we’ve missed them.
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Thanks Robin. Staying sane – that’s the thing!
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It will be good to read your wise and kind words again each week, Jamie. The world needs all the wisdom and kindness it can get right now.
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Thanks James. I’ll do my best!
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Hello Jamie So happy that you are “Back in the Water” with a Few Kind Words after all this time. Glad that you are resuming your weekly writing which is such a delight for your faithful readers : I enjoy the way you write about where you are and what’s going on in your mind and life. So wonderful to be in Andalucía in the fall ! Enjoy your retreat and Spain ! With warm regards from the Indian Ocean Josiane
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Lovely to get news from the Indian Ocean, Faithful Reader! Hope we’ll see you in 2026. Jx
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I caught the Instagram snapshots of Aracena and hope there was a bit of chanting into the trees as we did in Nonquitt. Glad to read your writing again.
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There was, Lacey! Nice to hear from you.
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Maybe time for us all to stop holding our breath. Yes.
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Thanks Jane. Lets hope so.
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