Epiphany In Blue

A whiff of death has lingered in the downstairs bathroom since the rat in the roof space incident. We have not seen a rat since the first day of May. From the thickening of the scent it is feasible that another rat corpse reclines nearby. Not something I look forward to investigating. I’m here to climb around the brewing bins and squeeze under the shower, after checking that no spiders lurk in reach of drowning and no slugs are exploring my exfoliating gloves. Not adverse to the company of invertebrates, they just don’t make good shower companions.  

The shampoo bottle pops open, foams up a nicer aroma. Fresh water has an agreeable fragrance. I think, plain water has a smell, doesn’t it, or is it that the nose detects a body of wet stuff and the brain registers this as a smell? Does this make sense, or have I been neglecting sleep in favour of espresso and writing sprees, to the deficit of my overall cognisance? Shut up brain. Slough off the dull layer of skin cells, with slug-free gloves. Brain says, a shower is a renewal. You could get out of the shower a whole new person. I like this idea better.

Out of the shower, another fragrant thought. In the pantry cupboard there is a jar of dried rose petals. Last summer’s blooms are sifted into a teapot, making a pint of drinkable perfume. Sit, rest, sip.

Driving back from Bude the sky is full of blue clouds. Splotchy blue, like one blue sock with unfixed dye went in the cloud washing machine. It reads like proof this day has something different going on. Not as different as the day I followed my intuition to the beach, found a headless dog (decomposed, not decapitated, I must add, it was not a crime scene) and the sea was crammed with blue jellyfish, but the same feel of bizarre epiphany.