A vast landscape, and an old ruin. An old corpse, and new bones. The word ‘Melancholia’ etched in the weather-worn stone. A sense of…great distance, but ground beneath your feet. A storm is coming, the air is heavy, and the wind moves across you with invisible hands, pulling on hair and clothes. And, for me, as ever, a heavy sense of awed yearning, of a desire to be in this otherworldly place.