First Days Of May
The wind has her head down, busily sweeping cloud and flailing the five wet tea towels I have hung on the line. As fast as she sweeps, the cloud piles up behind her. Here, in the brief sunshine of a clean house, I empathise.
Walking in from pegging out, two young rats skip past, from behind the washing machine, squeal, skid into the getaway pipe. Curiosity causes a turn back. When I peer in, two dark eyes stare right back. All the poisoned grain packs are dragged away.
Curiosity won’t kill them. That will be the anti-coagulant’s job.
We have yellow curtains, venerably old velvet, a shade too mustardy but fully lined and practical for the space it’s in. When the sun shines behind them the colour lights up; half in sleep I think the sun is climbing in the window. It won’t fit, so this must be dreaming. The light is here, so this must be morning.
Back door opens to the back porch, where a young rat is dithering. I want to take a photograph of it. I can save its image. Dog and Cat appear at my heels. Rat remembers the getaway pipe, clunks behind the washing machine like a man who says he’s not drunk.
Cat strolls out, looking for a sunny pool to bathe in.
Dog and me go field walking. All the grass sparkles, and there’s nothing in the sky but a finger-smudge of cloud and one fat bee.
I text my friend, Claire, because it is her birthday. I think she will have lunch outside today, with her sunglasses on, and some fabulous jewellery shining on tanned skin. She will be laughing and eating cake. She will say ‘Darling’ and ‘Gorgeous’ quite a lot. If I can ever afford a publicist, the job is taken.