There's home, and then there's home. Wimbledon Common, and its skies, has been home for - well, a long time. This is the seventh decade, I guess. So when I'm looking at this particular quality of late November light, at the reflections off the pond and puddled bridle paths, at the bare horse chestnut trees, I know exactly where I am - as rooted as those trees. At the same time it's all tinged with nostalgia, pastness, and being here makes me feel as though I'm about a hundred and ten.
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