The Post Office, Llangwnadl
Proust was all for the sense being the gateway to the past. For me, it is photography.
I found this postcard during a clear out. I hold it in my hand and can remember every step of the trek from our farmhouse to its doors. Buying bread and milk; the thrill of the toy section. I can remember the smells. The newspapers lined up outside the door. The sun. The rain.
I can remember being there with my grandparents and Aunty Doss. My brother and sister. My dad. My uncle and cousins.
I can remember everything about it. It is heartwrenching.