Across the peninsula seems a different world. I head there today. Forty minutes drive across the body of this land. Turning my back on sea, I drive through a world of emerald green. Long shadows cast by the trees, marching along the road. Leading the way across to the opposite side. To a world where the estuary opens the valley wide open. The hills rise behind the market town, their peaks dusted with snow. The river is full with rain. Two days ago it burst its banks, covering the surrounding area with water. For now it settles into an uneasy quiet. The place is safe, this time. The shops are full of people, unfamiliar faces – or so it seems. How quickly I have adjusted to village life. This hustling, bustling place feels a million miles away. I find myself speeding up, rushing through the list of jobs. Force myself to pause. Carrot cake and hot chocolate – an unexpected treat. I return to the list, until at last I am done. Homewards bound with a sigh of relief. Back down the side of the valley, the estuary view spread out before me. Between the fields. A lone tree stands by roadside, silhouetted against the sky. Twisted round, bent by the wind. Reclaiming my pace, my peace, I stop the car. Get out. Look and breathe. Drink in the shapes. A corby circles overhead. In the distance I hear a trickling stream. Refreshed, I journey onwards, over the hills. Towards the blue, welcoming me home.