Wandering alone in the rain, wearing my old winter coat, wondering how a country I spent 25 years living in can feel so familiar and so strange at the same time. Noticing things I've never paid much attention to before: how beautiful, old and elegant (some of) the houses are; how green and imposing the trees loom; how dark and rich the soil is. Accepting that I call somewhere else 'home' now. Missing the brightness and the bird song and the palette of the sky and trees. Pondering the weirdness of the decisions we make and the places we end up. Feeling just a little bit confused about it all.