My home is largely green, from the ground upon which I walk, to the tips of the trees and shrubs that surround me. Admittedly there is brown and blue shading in abundance too, but both are conveniently changed to green with a small introduction of additional color and the island is awash in multiple pigment. Cobalt sea, purple sky, sun, moon and stars radiant with yellow gold and silver, blood red stain ground into roadways reflecting the multitude of fallen and decomposing leaves.
I was asked again today for the umpteenth if I miss my home, my heritage, my history. I do not. Perhaps I did once when I was yet to fully absorbed her majesty, to recognize the glory of that vessel, the chariot of fire that carried me phoenix like into posterity, physically armed and spiritually prepared for battle.
Patriots love their country, ex patriots are their country; patriots change, ex patriots remain eternally fixed by the moment and circumstance of their departure. I left in better times, Britishness being more positive than negative, good manners and breeding still fully ensconced, the veil between public and private whole and unsullied.