Arriving back by plane, I find myself released into the golden light of late afternoon. How familiar it is, how well-remembered! And yet, almost at once I am aware of a subtle change. Something is missing. Lost, perhaps, or merely forgotten ... Then I realise what it is. The rich, buttery haze, the reflection no doubt of our perfect dairy products, our abundant produce, no longer hangs over the land, softening the harsher edges with its tender, translucent glow. Everything seems harder and brighter. At the same time I recall the anxiety in my father's voice, crackling, long distance down the line... 'We've had some trouble at home ... it's your mother ... we had to let you know ... she's lost her voice . . .'

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