There’s a bee buzzing in the living room. Pipi is on to it. It’s lucky she’s such a scaredy cat patient hunter. If there was any chance of her catching it, I would actually have to get up and do something about it. The sun is shining outside, it’s quiet. I love this village, this break place. From the windows I can see tree covered mountains old as time, small stone houses with smoke curling from the chimneys. I can see the bombed out remains of a pre-world war two house and I can see poppies growing wild. I’m thinking about place and time and continuity. And I’m thinking about her and history and stories and change. I’m thinking about my friend, arriving by bus in a few hours and the things I need to do between now and then to make this place a little more welcoming. I’m thinking about my boyfriend, who has gone off to find food, nothing’s open on this public holiday Thursday. I’m thinking about the drive here last night, about how he makes me laugh - usually without meaning to and I’m wondering why we fight each other so much, why it’s so hard sometimes. But mostly, I’m thinking about love. Love for places, for each other, love throughout time, love that ties and binds so tight that sometimes I wonder if I’m not choking on it.