There are some probabilities, many unanticipated things come up, and if you love, and want to truly know who they are, day to day, you won't be yearning for one thing, when in fact they are in another phase.
That's how I feel about places.
Why would I today long to be with this place in summer, when I love this place, and here is their quiet intricate winter magnificence.
On an overcast late January day, with thick blue-tinged clouds streaming overhead, and coffee-cream puddles, iced with ice inflected lace, and a warm wind ruffling all things, as the Goshawk glides noiselessly by.
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