{"id":1654,"date":"2023-06-20T16:52:03","date_gmt":"2023-06-20T16:52:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=1654"},"modified":"2023-06-20T16:52:09","modified_gmt":"2023-06-20T16:52:09","slug":"planet-hiraeth","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/planet-hiraeth\/1654\/","title":{"rendered":"Planet Hiraeth"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"A<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Silken fingers tickle my face as they fasten the blindfold behind my head, their animated whispers swelling and popping like bubbles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHold still, Ma!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Beside me, my sister, Emma, is giggling, receiving the same treatment. What are they up to, these great, great, great grandchildren of ours?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The excitement is contagious. \u201cGently now, or Auntie and I won\u2019t make it past our two hundredth birthdays.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

We\u2019re forever frozen in our forties, Emma and I, so strictly speaking there\u2019s nothing frail about us, though by modern standards that\u2019s ancient. The youngsters love to trace the lines on our faces and marvel at our silver hairs, remnants of a bygone process: ageing beyond peak adulthood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\u2019re pulling me up to a standing position now and leading me towards the door to the pod.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t we need our oxygen masks?\u201d I say, a wave of anxiety suddenly rising inside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. We made an air-bubble!\u201d Little Tilly\u2019s voice rises proudly over the chatter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Reuben places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. \u201cWe wanted this to be extra-special. I promise, Mum, it\u2019s amazing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s a whooshing sound as the pod doors slide open. It feels unnatural to be stepping out without a mask, but I\u2019m swept outside by the tide of people pressing forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Someone guides my hand onto the railing. The air out here is cool against my skin, and goosebumps spread up my arms, igniting memories. I\u2019m so used to keeping them at bay that they lap against my consciousness. But they\u2019re insistent. I won\u2019t be able to hold them back much longer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I feel a tugging sensation and the blindfold slides off my face. I snap my eyes shut, not yet ready to see it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSurprise! Happy Elders\u2019 Day!\u201d they chime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A beat of silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hear Emma gasp before I open my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m only aware of a faint sparkle at first. Then my vision clears, and my mouth falls open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m staring up through the leaves of a weeping willow, its branches swaying, waving a bittersweet welcome. Beyond it, an orb glows softly against a velvety backdrop. They\u2019ve got the silver light and the craters just right. It\u2019s uncanny. And most beautiful of all are the glittering \u2018stars,\u2019 freckling the night sky. One for every lost soul left behind, every painfully happy memory, every human mistake that led to the collapse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is that my husband\u2019s face among the stars? I blink and it\u2019s gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 A ripple of sighs and sobs echoes all around the camp. The other elders are outside their pods, too. We stand in an arc like a crescent-moon, gazing into the past.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I look at my children, whose features have softened into dreamy expressions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas this your idea?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They nod. They remember it too, of course. They were teenagers when we were shipped out, as were many of the others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My heart quivers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas Earth really this beautiful?\u201d a tiny voice whispers in wonder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emma and I lock gazes. Our eyes brim with tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh yes.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We\u2019re forever frozen in our forties, Emma and I, so strictly speaking there\u2019s nothing frail about us, though by modern standards that\u2019s ancient. The youngsters love to trace the lines on our faces and marvel at our silver hairs, remnants of a bygone process: ageing beyond peak adulthood.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[695,782],"tags":[819],"class_list":["post-1654","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-695","category-june-2023-home-sweet-home","tag-hiraeth"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-qG","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1654","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1654"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1654\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1657,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1654\/revisions\/1657"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1654"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1654"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1654"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}