Fragile projections of a delicate solar system are foretold behind the gates of the damp castle walls.
I recognise the commanding gentleness of the icy North Wind as it teases with advances of forthcoming brutality.
Chunks of freshly baked bread and thick wedges of cheese are stapled to history with the blessing of a contemporary Mother’s Pride.
We have travelled light years apart, yet we are inseparably joined at the metaphorical hip.