The Castle on the Hill

A few weeks ago the lyrics echoed through the household just as I heard them for the first time.  That time years ago when driving my two sons down the 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, this castle would have on all of us.  Now, 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 what the season was, the daily walks around its structure would captivate my senses and thoughts. I would often ponder walking on the narrow dirt trail that snaked its way between the sheep and cow pastures, what stories lied within the walls?  Who was born here, who took their last breath?  Who fell in love, 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, its dance, its paradoxical nature, its “divine comedy”. 

However, as I muse about it today thousands of miles away, trying to shake my own feelings of longing, I can’t help but question if I was simply projecting my own life onto those Middle Age walls or did the walls truly speak 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 of something true, real, and present in my own life.  An insight about time and the gifts in life that go beyond time and understanding.

In the end, maybe both were true.  We both spoke.  We both listened.  And the answer is found in the tears of my eight year old. 

His tears of pining a few weeks ago for a time gone by spoke to what we knew then and what we know 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 throughout the centuries who have looked up at the castle as well as those who walk by it today, we are still listening, we are still speaking, because some things are indeed timeless.  Some gifts are everlasting.