A product of a cold, remote, yet enchanting hilltop, Chris now relishes the warmer climes in which he currently resides—thousands of miles away from the little island of his youth. Though not too much. How he came to be in Birmingham, Alabama is of no consequence, he is there, that is how it is.
The hilltop presiding over the dark wooded glen in southwestern Scotland will not let go, and the hold it has over his imagination, an imagination of its creation, is such that dreams he conjured there are the dreams that drive him still. Longings and ideals formed there are the essence of the world he searches for. Friends of that age are cherished and sorely missed.
Chris is very much rooted in the present though. The woods and fields of that hilltop are no longer his playground. The imagination such places lend should be treasured, nurtured, and as much as is possible, shared. Our imaginations are hungry ravenous beasts and need a constant dose of ideas, shapes, colours, smells, stories, lights, spaces, friends, creatures, music, and more than we could ever list and categorise.
Places still exist that feed the imagination, other spaces have to be created. Chris has but a small role in that, yet that’s all he can ever want to do.