Standing by the old house listening to the rain. The scents of the garden and the ancient wood beyond delight my senses. The smell of autumn fills the air. The woodland floor strewn with acorns. My grandfather and I walking together, the feel of acorns clutched in a child’s hand. Opening the fruit the kernel exposed to little exploring fingers. Leaves crunching, grandfather close and near.

My aunt standing close, we two sheltering from the rain. Grandfather departed many moons past. My aunt followed several years ago. They are part of something now beyond my comprehension, a small speck in nature’s unfathomable plan.

Great metal birds shriek overhead drowning out the singing of their feathered cousins. Oh how times change. In centuries past the hall dominated the village of Speke. Villagers and hall joined by threads tying one to the other. The domestics toiling to keep the house in good…