Watching out of my study window this morning, I saw what I thought at first was a leaf slowly falling through the still morning air. Then I realised that it was the feather of a bird, discarded in mid flight. It became the symbol of the old, discarded as we pass on through life.

Today we move, from a place which holds such painful, destructive memories for us, to a beautiful cottage on the slopes of the Lammermuir hills, a place where we can hopefully gradually recuperate from five years of something like hell.

We arise today, on the day of the memory of the Transfiguration!