I’m home. A year and half has passed.
Going from winter to summer in 24 hours landed me in the humid air of Heathrow. Body clock shot, seasonally confused.
I had forgotten the feel of England in summer and I have spent the subsequent week revelling in it. Lush and verdant. Despite the depressive homogeneity of the high streets and chainstores, industrial estates and service stations (the same anywhere). There is a great deal to be relished and delighted in. Old stone buildings, field patterns, the thick and effulgent trees and grassy meadows at their peak, the familiar insects at dusk.
This is the view from the house I grew up in, looking up the Pentewan valley on a warm evening. Something I had been able to look at every year until the last one.
The air is thick with summer and I am relatively at peace trying to catch up with old friends and full of new resolutions for the months ahead.