There is no movement outside my window. The purple and green foliage on the trees above the pond is static, silent, as if the wind paused for breath, or for lack of it. The pink-grey clouds against the white and baby-blue sky don’t seem to shift at all. The only sign of life is the chiming of church bells. It’s a Thursday night: bell-ringing practice. Sometimes, across the ocean, sitting on a balcony in the humid evening light with a drink in hand, I think I hear these same bells. They’re barely audible with the windows shut tight. They beckon on Sundays and ring time all day, but somehow they just seem louder on Thursday nights. They’ve become a symbol to me of being back home, in this village, and in this same house.

There are three windows in my room: one double one at the foot of my bed, one triple above the dressing table – both of these draped with long heavy cream-colored curtains and blue sashes – and a tiny arched window in the corner, curtainless and higher than the rest. The same windows that I stared out of at 15, 16, 17, 18. Wishing on stars. The same windows I jumped from—the luxury of being the only one with a ground floor room in this house. They let the sun stream over the bed every evening – evenings which last much later into the night over here. When I leave one open overnight, I wake to the clopping of horseshoes along the street outside -- the street that separates our house from the village pub. Another sound I carry around with me, a little piece of the soundtrack. Outside the double window I can see roofs – one slated and covered in lichen, and the other thatched, with brick chimney and television antennae. Beyond, treetops and the clouds. These tiny rectangles display such English scenes. Even the leaves look British, lush and damp, chilled.

In this still scene, it feels like the world is on pause. The church bells counting down the moments until movement will resume; life will continue. But when I look up and out of the window, the clouds have moved on and the sky has darkened. Still nothing moves.