Walking up the steeply winding slope, I pull away from the city’s warm embrace and into an ethereal world

It’s Thanksgiving Day here in the USA. I sit in our tiny garden spilling over with flowers and watch the hummingbirds hovering on their jewelled wings of speed.

Shifting sands move under our feet as we find ourselves back on the beach. The scene sharpens and we talk through the landscape of a gathering evening.

We flew home into the blue of beyond two weeks ago. In a few days we will catch a plane to the tomorrow of a southern French sun.

I found myself  on an eye wateringly early flight home to Los Angeles this morning after a wonderful few days in Mexico City.

A velveteen rabbit lies abandoned on the bed. Sunday afternoon creeps quietly up through the open window.

We’ve come to the end of a busy week here. Lessons, activities and all manner of learning have flooded our tiny school.

It’s a blazingly hot Sunday afternoon here. Temperatures have rocketed up to 100 degrees and everybody’s feeling the heat.

It’s a cool grey morning. Hints of blue are emerging to push the clouds aside but the heat of the afternoon is for now a vague promise.

And so we’re back in the land of sunshine and disfunction. We flew home last weekend on a plane ride so bumpy in places that Mr Dylan himself might have had a thing or two to say about it!

Sitting in silent communion with the spirits of the Tazza Fountain in Hyde Park’s Italian Gardens I feel the magic of this particular spot once again.