It is one of the quieter advantages of living in Suffolk that one may, at almost any moment, abandon the present century.
One simply steps out.
A short drive. A narrow lane. A place where the hedgerows lean in slightly, as if listening.
And before long, the signal begins to change.
You can do this elsewhere, of course. The old centres still hum faintly across the world — from the Balkans through to Anatolia, and down into those more troubled regions where history has become… rather too active again. In such places, if one is inclined to wander with intent, something in the internal apparatus begins to respond.
A loosening.
A shift in perception.
Rather like hearing a minor key played on a long-necked lute — the old Saz — where the note seems less performed than remembered.
But let us remain in Suffolk.