The world. Makes you think of a blue and green blob floating in blackness, perhaps glimpsed from the moon or the international space station right? Perhaps a photo taken by Tim Peake?

Often the world means that other, distant place. World News, the ‘Orient’, the ‘Occident’. The globe. Our own planet often feels far away from here, from this chair, this table, this cup of tea, this tiny glowing screen in a room in Cambridgeshire of Tucson or Indonesia.

But this is also the Earth, right here. It’s pulsing and growing and breathing around you right now. That ant crawling between a crack in the paving slabs on the drive. The pigeons in the park down the road.

The creatures and plants in this tiny corner of our sphere of rock and air bubbles and water are also in need of a loving home. The stream in front of me as I think, patiently and consistently ploughing this piece of land, for decades; its drops like a family of farmers. The tiny bird, a mottled chestnut and snow white treecreeper, waltzing its way up the trunk of the tree next to me. It is also the Earth. Cirque du soleil, vertical ice skating. Defying gravity; like Tim Peake.