It’s a calm, clear evening at last after two days of relentless wind and rain. When my son phones to tell me to look outside I’m hoping that I’ll see the northern lights. Piling on layers of warm clothes – the temperature is already dropping – I step out into the noisy dark; when the river is in spate it is even louder at night.
Over to the east, the three stars of Orion’s belt hang in a line over the lights of Allendale. The huge ash and its neighbour, the sycamore, magnificent trees by day, are combined in a single silhouette of black tracery, like the work of a paper-cut artist. The full glitter of the Milky Way spangles in a band way above our house. And shape‑shifting, green and red, are the sky-dancing lights of the aurora borealis.
