Balm.

Surely there can be no better balm for the world-weary than a week on the West Coast.

We go at slightly different times every year, but the changes are vast - the flowering plants, the behaviour of animals...

Tortoises busy with their tortoise business. A few lonesome francolins still chirrup, looking for mates. Bulbuls and wattled starlings splashing in the birdbath - sometimes six thick. At dusk - a rim of pale yellow still on the horizon - a large owl swooped low and over us, going who knows where. On a sunny afternoon a pied crow came soaring straight towards me. But then had a change of heart.

The constant honking of the flamingoes - nothing on earth more beautiful than those jesters taking flight.

Strange landscapes we found ourselves in. Glimpses of movement and colour through the reeds.

Growth and gentle decay.