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STEAMING ESPRESSO in hand I’m reflecting that I’ve watched the cycle of the seasons in Greystoke for over thirty years. A day or two ago the Japanese acer in the garden was clothed in gold – but not for nothing is frost described as “a nip in the air” and overnight every last leaf had been nipped and floated to the ground, back to the soil from whence it came. Fall and rising. Fall and rising. The pattern of resurrection, again and again. And it is startlingly beautiful. All is well.