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.

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