I always watch it, with the cows. You must watch too. A stone cottage on the side of a hill just before it descends into the elbow of a valley. Smoke from the chimney-stack speckles the lilac tree with black smuts. Frozen nappies flap stiffly on the line, a row of white bunting.
Belongings cover the kitchen table, overflow onto the flag floor from tea chests and apple boxes.
Books on photography and gardening, a Blue Peter Annual, a single small wellington boot. Sets of saucepans, jam jars, a measuring jug. Rusty baking tins. It took so long to construct. The patchwork cushions, the lemon balm and pots of geraniums wintering on the window sill.