A summer’s evening. Warm, slanting sunlight and a gentle evening breeze. Behind, a woodpigeon calling in the trees. In front, an ancient oak tree, witness to hundreds of summer evenings and a veteran of legions of winter storms. Beyond the oak tree the hillside sloping down to a lush valley inscribed with a winding river where salmon swim.
Feeling that breeze, listening to the woodpigeon and almost smelling the river – I could have stood there forever.