Greetings from the Old Rectory, where I’m feeling so tired that I’m worried that my words tonight might seem quite mad. But here goes: this morning Philip played the bagpipes at our local church, for the Battle of Britain service, to commemorate the anniversary of the Air Force’s defence of this country from attack by the Nazis in 1940. Naturally, we also remembered the Queen - who lived through WW2 as a girl, and whose parents survived a number of direct bombings of Buckingham Palace in September 1940. During the service, I found myself thinking of September 11th 2001 - one of our neighbours in the village had a miraculous escape from an upper floor of the World Trade Center on 9/11, but she lost many of her colleagues there. And as I was gazing at the stained glass window above the altar, during “The Airman’s Hymn”, I saw a butterfly fluttering on the other side of the glass, the shadow of its wings visible throughout the hymn. And then I recalled the picture of Prince Philip surrounded by monarch butterflies, and the Queen wearing a butterfly brooch that she had received as a wedding present, and I hoped that her spirit was now reunited with all those that she loved: her husband, her sister, her parents. And I thought of how fragile life is - as delicate as a butterfly’s wings - and yet how our love endures, even through the most troubling times... I hope these rambling thoughts don’t seem too chaotic - it’s been a long week, hasn’t it? And I’m sending you all good wishes on this Sunday evening, and hope you too might have been blessed by a butterfly, wherever you are in the world...