Tuesday, March 19, 2024

Box of books, lighter coat and child asleep.

1. There is a heavy box of new books waiting on the stairs.

2.  There's a warmth to the air that makes me wonder if I should have put on a lighter coat. 

3. There's a child asleep on my bed as I am working this evening. 

Monday, March 18, 2024

Bud vase, tomato and the poem I needed to hear.

1. Among the faded cut daffodils that I'm putting on the compost heap there is one that will do for another day in a bud vase.

2. For the burger that Alec has cooked me, slices of tomato with the seeds discarded.

3. Tonight, I hear a poem that I really needed to hear, in which the teenagers in someone else's house sleep long and deep, just like my son.

Friday, March 15, 2024

Puzzles, tea time and the new rug.

1. This morning, while we are still lying in bed waiting for the bathroom to come free, I share my morning New York Times puzzles with Bettany.

2. At tea time, a dark chocolate biscuit and hot mug appear at my elbow.

3.  I'm still enjoying the give of the new rug under my feet.

Thursday, March 14, 2024

Using up that cauliflower, sunset and a bit of a moon.

1. For lunch, there is a particularly good cauliflower and chickpea curry that Nick has made.

2. On my way over the common, I come across the place where people dawdle so they can watch the sunset tangling in the trees to the west. I stop for a moment, too.

3. High above us is a bit of a moon, veiled in the mist.

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

Avocado, in the rain and supper smells.

1. I didn't expect this: the avocado is perfectly ripe.

2. The world runs with water today -- all about me in the woods, there is movement.

3. I come downstairs before Nick calls supper because the spicy scents are so enticing, and I'm curious to see what he's making.

Tuesday, March 12, 2024

Locked away, milkshake and last stitch.

1. Halfway through the afternoon, I spot the builder carrying his power saw across the car park so he can lock it away in his truck.

2. Making a milkshake for Alec when he comes in from school.

3. Pulling the cut yarn through the final knitted stitch.

Monday, March 11, 2024

Pinks, robin and not dead.

1. Waiting for me at breakfast is a pot of pinks, just perfect for the front garden.

2. Later in the day, Alec produces a card he has made for me -- a drawing of a robin in oil pastels, made from a photo he took on a day out we had together in the autumn.

3. I go to take out a dead fern to make room for my pinks, but find close to the soil, tight furled fronds, waiting for next week, or the week after.

Box of books, lighter coat and child asleep.

1. There is a heavy box of new books waiting on the stairs. 2.  There's a warmth to the air that makes me wonder if I should have put on...