"Fog lifts in the valley, rising as mist through the bare-limbed trees.
Far below lies the deeping combe with our village in the heart of it.
My whole world for nearly a decade has been contained in that place—
and now the village of Duns looks so small. I hold up my hand, form a
circle with my fingers. The distant village, wreathed in mist, seems a
child’s plaything that I can hold in my own hand.
A great fallen yew with nurslings jutting evergreen from its bro- ken body
lies near our path. This is the very place at which I first saw the village
ten years ago. The line of trees here on the ridge is unchanged, as if I
came here only yesterday. I waited in the quiet vale of Duns
far too long."