The Castle on the Hill

A few weeks ago, the lyrics echoed through the household just as I heard them for the first time.  Years ago, when driving my two sons down a narrow country road in Worb, Switzerland.

“I’m on my way

Driving at ninety down those country lanes

Singing to “Tiny Dancer”

And I miss the way you make me feel, and it’s real

We watched the sunset over the castle on the hill”

-Ed Sheeran “Castle on the Hill”

Listening then, as we passed the 12^th Century Worb Castle like we did every day, I couldn’t help but wonder what impact this song, this place and this castle would have on all of us.  Years later, with those same lyrics echoing through our household approximately 4,000 miles away, only to find the source of the song coming from our youngest son’s bedroom as he sat on the floor with tears streaming down his face, I knew. 

No matter the season, the daily walks around its structure would captivate my senses and thoughts. I often pondered walking on the narrow dirt trail between the sheep and cow pastures and what stories lay within the walls.  Who was born here, who took their last breath?  Who fell in love, and who got their hearts broken?  What important political decisions were made?  How many times was the survival of the castle under threat?  I would ponder about life.  Its mystery, dance, paradoxical nature, and “divine comedy.” 

However, as I muse about it today, thousands of miles away, trying to shake my feelings of longing, I can’t help but question if I was projecting my own life onto those Middle Ages walls or if the walls truly spoke something to me?  Was it all just a daily fantasy that I would conjure up to escape a life I knew wouldn’t last forever, or did those sunsets that illuminated the outer roof give birth to an insight into something authentic, genuine, and present in my life?  An insight about the gifts in life that go beyond time and understanding.

In the end, both may be true.  We both spoke.  We both listened.  And the answer is found in the tears of my eight-year-old son. 

His tears of pining a few weeks ago for a time gone by spoke to what we knew then and now.  The castle on the hill, the castle in our backyard, the boy’s playground for over four years, and the structure that gave me peace, strength, and wonder did indeed speak to us, and we spoke to it. 

Like those who have looked up to the castle throughout the centuries and those who walk by it today, we are still listening and speaking because some things are timeless. Some gifts are everlasting.