There is long-dreamed-about family house on the right, in the quiet village, just round the corner from the local shops, with pine trees bordering on one side and log-fed fire in the sitting room by the fluffy rug; there are dreams overdreamed and songs unborn.
I took my camera, pictured that and everything fell into place.
Nothing’s changed out there.
According to Sam 
This smells like poetry.
Thank you, always too kind my friend.