She glanced back at the young mother walking with her husband. The woman was chunky. Genetically inferior. But at that moment Alexa wanted to he her. Life was about experiences. She'd learned that more and more over the decades.

There's a place between desire and memory, some back porch
we can neither wish nor recall

Home’, it had struck her on the torturous drive back to London, wasn’t Egerton Gardens, wasn’t even Fox Corner. Home was an idea, and like Arcadia it was lost in the past.

...the memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment..

...the memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment, and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years.