carrying the light

Sweet serendipity. You go looking and sometimes you unexpectedly get. This was close to the place where I grew up as a very small child. Out in the countryside, nearer to Kilmalcolm than it is Port Glasgow.
My Granny used to love to take me long walks in the prams. Her mum - my great-Granny I never knew - would sometimes peek in the hood of the pram and say "Ach, God bliss ye, son !"
I was in my mum's womb in this place and there was a huge storm that felled trees and made connection to the outside world impassable on anything other than foot. My dad had to trudge to his sister's to get help.
All this I know because I've been told. It's like a mythical, magical place I've been but don't remember. Like a dream come mid-morning. How enchanting then that this happens just up the lane -
The sun comes out and catches the powerlines. Like dazzling skipping ropes the girls used to play with at school. How it carries a song, a rhythmical skipping rope chant. Carrying the light, carrying the electrons to make light. God bliss me, indeed.