The bus carrying the last of the renters and students is slowly pulling out of the village.
Even the seagulls seem thrilled.
Not to mention the neighbour Smiths (originally from Southhampton) in the house next door.
One of those magical autumn weekends when you have the area all to yourself.
I’m standing by the back door, at sunset, having a conversation with you about the beauty of the failing flowers.
You ask, ‘are all yellow flowers your favourite?’
I laugh and say ‘no silly, not all yellow ones!’
‘Just this one?’
“How did you guess?”