Monday, May 12, 2008

Home place, our summer and I see the moon.

1. Nick wants to visit a tile shop that he's sure is down a street where I once lived. Privately I think it's not, but I let him go on leading me until we reach the old house. It's still there, still unpainted. From a certain spot in the street I can see down the passageway and into the garden -- just a sliver of deckchaired arm and some snatches of conversation.

2. We are into our second weekend of glorious weather. Over the impromptu games of cricket and rounders on the Common, there seems to be a bubble of gratitude.

3. Late at night I look up and see a thread of moon looking down through the slats of the blind.