1. The world is white when we go to sleep but grey with mist when we wake up. Even on the dullest day though – when the tree line and the ends of the fields are all but invisible – the walk to the post office never fails to cheer me up.
2. I rest my head on Carla’s head, my eye socket accommodating the curve of her skull. Her fur is so soft against my cheek as we breathe together.
3. The moment we realise we’re wearing the same cardigan.
1. The olive oil has turned gelatinous on the cold window sill.
2. The thrill of seeing the Twitter textbox count rise from -55 to 0 with rewording and careful cropping.
3. John decides it’s time to leave the house for the first time in 2010 and even though I’m starting to feel ill, I decide to join him for some fresh air. We walk the short way to the shops – to the chemist, to the grocers – to pick up supplies. John decides to do a running-slide down the slope near our house on the way back. Our neighbour in the house at the end of the slope watches and laughs from her kitchen window as he rides the ice around the corner. By the time we get home, my floating head pain has dissipated.
1. We wake up and the world is freshly white again. After more than a fortnight, it feels like we’re living in the perpetual winter of Narnia. Later, colourful coated kids trek along the hidden path to go sledging in the distant meadow.
2. For the first half hour of cooking, looking at the dry spices on the meat makes my throat hurt in anticipation but then the juices conquer them and we’re left with a delicious moist crust.
3. Looking from a dark room into the dark world, the branches of the trees seem ghostly and unreal. Or perhaps I’ve been spending too long in the Undercity…
Felt awful again this morning but starting to feel more human again now. Just in time for Monday and work. Two weekends in a row lost to Team Peach illness now, boo.
1) After a day of health-promoting rest, I have a long soak in the bath. I find myself thinking about what herbs and vegetables I’d like to grow around the garden and house next year. We’ll still be limited by sunlight to some degree but not as much as before. The possibilities are exciting.
2) Carla stays at my side for most of my time in the bath and as I’m just about to get out, she moves from her safe, comfortable spot on the steps to the side of the bath itself. Her tail is looped around her side and starts aloft, but gradually drops down until it’s skimming the water – then suddenly, completely submerged. I don’t say anything because I think it will be funny for her to get a wet tail but the joke is on me – as soon as she notices, she flicks it upright – showering me in the face with all the absorbed water. I laugh and wonder if cats have enough planning capability for practical jokes.
3) Chilled by winter, water fresh from the tap is the perfect temperature for soothing a still raw throat.
© 2024 Louisa Parry