Going With The Flow Isn't Always Bumpy

Looking down at fierce ocean swell

After work - no swimming. Just stopped by Porthpean to breathe the wild air, to drive home to a powercut, candlelit house where a glass of wine was waiting. 

The next day more storm winds blew, rolling apples down the lawn. Fruit boules? I was in the blackberry hedge, untangling thorny whips and gathering fruit. Dots of blood on fingers, nettle-stung buzz on my shins.  Ideas swirling about plotlines adding to the happiness. Pegged towels on the rotary line which may be a mistake but maybe (definitely, overcome with the exuberant purchase of our not yet delivered kayak) I lied when I said I wouldn’t replace it. I should re-use it, obviously; grow sweet peas on it, perhaps. Sweet peas, and ivy for the evergreen. Meanwhile the line has stretched like cheap elastic and I’m hoping the towels don’t land in the gooseberry prickles. Later I am sat writing, and hiding from the mess downstairs which will turn out fine because there’s a plumber fixing the kitchen tap (replaced, it transpires) and the leak under the bath and the suddenly-scorch-you shower (another replacement, on order).

Later I stir spice-simmers, cooking up a curry, and poach windfall pears with lime blossom.
Things that annoy are shrugged off. Feels like progress.
Pot of blackberries, pears, and apples


That sounds like a pretty good day to me. Some glitches cured, time with nature (even if she made you bleed a little), curry scents mellowing and a glass of wine.
The little things are huge in my world.

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