When I recall the events that have had the most powerful impact on me, the atmosphere of place is often more memorable than the events themselves.
One afternoon, having returned to Penzance from University, I found myself locked out. While I waited for my mum to return, I put my travel bag on the ground and lay back on it. The warm sun infused my body, birdsong filled the air, and I suddenly felt, with certainty, that everything would be OK. I remember that feeling more clearly than the details of the day itself. Where did it come from?
Another example was on my local beach. I was on a mission to learn to surf, but since I didn’t want anyone to mock my lack of skill, I would go down to the beach very early in the morning. Over many days, I followed the same routine, but I can recall only one moment from all those dawn trips. I had been in the water, in my wetsuit, long enough for my body to be pleasantly warm up. Then the sky darkened and raindrops began to fall on my exposed arms and face. The contrast was exquisite. I looked skywards to catch a bright rainbow against the uniform grey sky. Another duality. Then, the silence of the morning was pierced by the cry of a gull, its underbelly flashing white as a ray of sunlight struck it. I even remember the song lyrics that were in my head at the time, from Pearl Jam’s Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town: “Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away… .”
In both of these events, it was like something within me recognised that this moment was special. It was as if a camera shutter had just activated to ensure these perfect experiences would be permanently stored.
These were intensely personal moments, but how much of a role did the place itself play in this process?
Thoughts may fade, but why does atmosphere linger? I’d love to hear your own experiences in the comments
Image attribution: Unattributed via PickPik