As expected, my acute condition from last week fizzled a little and then petered out like a candle left in the rain.
Yesterday after work it was simply too hot to mow the week-old lawn and we simply chilled ourselves with an icy beverage or two. I was up early this morning to see about the grass but after a tasteless fag I crept back to bed and scandalously slept until 14:00.
It rained most of last night and it was still cool and overcast when I planted myself outside after my biblical sleep. Though seeing the grass grow in front of my very eyes I managed to convince myself that the lawn was still too wet to be touched. My father always said that wet grass damaged the lawnmower.
We had a nocturnal visitor during one of the storms. An unknown cat did a dig-and-roll in the new beans before jumping through one of the open bathroom windows to decorate the vitreous china with cute muddy paw patterns.
This morning we discovered that we left one of the bedroom windows open for the night. I wonder if that unknown cat may have been one of the inmates.
I also wonder if anyone else feels twice their age. The rest of this year rises ahead like a mountain fraught with danger and difficulty and we resort to films for comfort.
In the days and hours that Denys was at home we spoke of nothing ordinary. Not of my troubles with the farm, my notes due and my failing crop. Or of his with his work and what he knew was happening with Africa. Or of anything at all that was small and real. We lived disconnected and apart from things. I had been making up stories while he was away. In the evenings he made himself comfortable, spreading cushions like a couch in front of the fire and with me sitting cross-legged like Scheherazade herself, he would listen, clear-eyed, to a long tale from when it began until it ended.
Written by I