Moving back to stay with my parents for a while, before the next big change in my lifestyle comes. I’ve been away for some time, and I’ll miss the east with its endless supply of good food, the closeness of the beach, the wind, the richness and heritage and vibrancy of the landscape. It’s the only part of the country where I’ve ever really felt at home; and, for a while, it was home, and was cherished. Suburbia pales in comparison. But nothing lasts forever, however tightly we hold on; everything changes and is gone in the end. Yet over the years I have learnt not to set too much store by anything that can be taken away, whether it be mode of living or circumstances of life; instead I lay up treasure for myself in a place I know to be secure — the past, where can be found every dance, every kiss, every song, each glass of wine, each pint of beer, every road I have ever travelled. All my eyes have seen, all my hands have wrought, is there, not to be bought and sold, not to be plundered or stolen. In experience, then, I am rich: in the rise and fall of each life I have built, moving with the cycles of the years. Change now will come again; and I will go with it, tacking once more into the wind of destiny.