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Case for a clear view of heavens above

On holiday one Easter in deepest Galloway, I realised to my shame how much of a town mouse I had become.

It was 20 years since I'd lived in the country, in which time I'd lost my rural backbone. In those days I was a tenant on a farm. At night the place was so dark you couldn't see your boots, although you could hear the poachers crunching past the house with their evening's loot. While I lived on my own, I never gave the blackout a moment's thought, other than to enjoy the peace and loveliness of it. But fast forward two decades and the absolute lack of light outside the cottage was unnerving. Every rustling leaf became the tread of a burglar, or worse. The scuffle of a fox or a badger chased away sleep, as did the unfamiliar sensation of being blanketed in darkness, a reminder of one's vulnerability as one of the senses was obliterated and the night-time world came into its own.

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