I've just returned from a lovely late afternoon walk with my dog. The sun is still shining, snow is turning wet and mushy, and everywhere you hear the tell tale drip, drip, drip of the coming spring. I'm feeling extremely nostalgic for this place, and I haven't even left yet.

How can I leave this gorgeous piece of heaven? Was it my destiny to find this special corner of the world only to turn my back on it again?

The waiting is very difficult. Those of us who have emigrated to this country and who have the majority of their family living overseas know the heartbreak of saying goodbye at the airport after the enjoyment of one of their too rare visits. The rush to get to the airport, get checked in, get rid of all the luggage is followed by an almost unbearable awkwardness. They have to go through the gates where you cannot follow. Goodbyes have to be said, tears have to flow, hugs which must last until you next meet will be given ... and everyone wants this moment to end, but no-one wants to say good-bye because in the back of your mind is the always present question, "Will we see each other again?" ... so, you all wait, standing around, making small talk because you've said all there is to say. Until finally, with unspoken relief, someone glances at the clock and says they really must be going.

It feels like this now. I feel like I'm waiting to say goodbye to this amazing place ... awkwardly filling the days and weeks until we can leave ... dreading the time when we will leave, but wishing it would come soon to end the agony.

And outside my window the winter continues to drip, drip away ... and the birds are practising their spring mating songs ... and I wait to say goodbye.