Golden farewell

Today was taken up by the business of coming home again - always a finicky business when we've been, as it were, self-catering - the box of breakfast essentials, the clothes that we piled into the car without a thought - and, increasingly on mornings such as this was, a matter of wistful regret. I left my packing at the annoying last stages to walk over to the supermarket to do my weekly shopping (oh, the adventure of a strange supermarket!) and couldn't resist either this golden pair of trees at the corner of our street nor the red-leaved, yellow-berried one that is one of my extras. It struck me that the part of Edinburgh where we were staying, which geographically lies on the southern slope of a little valley that dips down and then up to the crest of the hill that slopes down towards the main road, is particularly favoured in the quality of the light, the air, and the vegetation - if that's what you can call the collective effect of gardens and trees.

We came home with a car-load of shopping, luggage and jackets, and wedged firmly on top a bunch of flowers (my other extra) and a bottle of wine, presents from my son and his wife. We've had such a lovely time with them and the boys, and with my other son and his family, that it felt crazy to be leaving them all behind, but as we shared this thought we realised how when they are all back at their normal daily existence our lives would barely impinge on theirs. 

So we're back with our own lives again. The house is chilly, despite our having boosted the heating remotely this morning - we left here in Autumn and returned in what feels like winter. There is snow visible on the northern hills, and the sky after dark was clear and windless. We have lives to lead and much to do - but it was great to drop out of it and into another for a few days.