and the downs glowing bright in the last of the bright winter days. Tramping over the chalk I forget about what’s happening in the news, which is good. What difference do my frettings make in the blizzard of current affairs and realpolitik lever tugging, whether it’s going on five miles away or five thousand? I’m drawn again to what’s local, the worlds to roam on my study shelf and the lace of streets I can bike to in thirty minutes. I’m laying stores in for the long nights, the world I can explore inside the lightfall of a candle.