There isn’t enough time for the discomfiture of family. There isn’t enough time for the transient nature of friendship. It would have been a cruel British irony that the rain would begin Sunday 22nd July after months of record breaking dryness. The moor fire on the hill behind the farm had only been extinguished days before. Blissful precipitation had relieved the peated land and the valley below brightened at dawn with the scent of sweet petrichor. The cool and moist morning air became an indication that the summer nights would begin to draw in. The poppies will recede as the gladioli take hold of the first border, a timely reminder of the heartache since the turn of the year. Dolly’s single egg produced in her short time is buried next to Rosemary at first light. She became the first loss the Retreat has seen this calendar year, but not the first in the extended family. As the meat is prepared and the vegetables chopped, the reverberant pings from both devices w...