The river is wider than its banks. Enviable lawn space
of the house on the end dips into an unplanned stretch of pond. This morning's
rain, soaked up on a round trip of the park, seemed slighter than it was: my
coat stays wet all day. Maybe I wasn't as attentive to the weather as is usual.
A chance examination of the coat rack finds a spare.
It's bright blue, brings a touch of Mediterranean cheer.
While Dog tries her luck at smuggling wet fur onto the
sofa, I'm googling post car crash brain injuries. Recovery of our crashed out
friend is protracted, trickier than anticipated. As if some sort of universal
sympathy is channeled, to start and finish a job today is rare. Highlight so
far is the hour and a half wait for the soup, left defrosting on the wrong hob
placement.
When Boy watches Air Disaster Analysis, these are
the kind of trivial incidents that add up to a blazing wreck.
I will leave the keys to the plane at home tonight,
pull on the ebullient blue coat and open my eyes to the weather.
And though I have returned to my house to burn toast and forget to hang up the
washing, I have returned through deep reflective pools, having heard the pelt
of the rain.
In the back seat of the car, a cold bag crammed with
the gift of a turkey: 20lbs of homegrown turkey: a bundle of cards, a ribboned
pot of something to pop in the fridge, a glass dish of homemade pâté. A note
that reads 'you two and taekwondo have kept my feet on the floor.'
Good to be grounded.
Comments