A Candle, Creamy White

An hour's yomp to Feather Tor and back. Mud sucks boots. Wind slaps face. Coats inflate, puff the walkers up ping-ping like popcorn.

The watch is consulted. It gives seven minutes to climb the slabbed granite and wrestle the air.

We are on time for Little Granddaughter, who has been playing and needs glasses and an eye test and has not drawn a picture of a cat: the very idea! But she will see the cats at Nanny's house and they have hair and she has hair but cats don't have glasses or a eye test.

She relates this information to Nanny.

'Peppa Pig!' we say to each other, remembering the episode. Pedro Pony sports a fine pair of spectacles.

Rain falls, heavy, smacks an acorn onto the windscreen.

Cardboard is coaxed to flame. Gravy simmers on the Rayburn hob.

A table candle pulses, creamy white.

Comments

Geo. said…

I declare, wherever you go becomes a place of enchantment. I loved reading this and the photos of the tor are perfections of selective focus. Brava!

21 November 2013 at 02:02

Lisa Southard said…

Daydreaming now of going on an enchantment tour- like a famous elf! Boy is the photographer here, he appreciates your impeccable taste :-) x

21 November 2013 at 22:05

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