Monday, March 19, 2012

Mother's Day, bowl and tea.

1. Alec walks towards me, his gait rolling like a sailor's. He holds high a Hotel Chocolat bag.

2. "Well, thank Stephen," says Nana raising her eyes to the sky when I thank her for saving a ceramic mixing bowl for me out of the things Nick's brother no longer needs. It meant a lot that at this sad time she remembered me complaining that mine had got lost several moves ago.

3. I remember my tea, and it's still warm (just, if I pretend hard).

Bud vase, tomato and the poem I needed to hear.

1. Among the faded cut daffodils that I'm putting on the compost heap there is one that will do for another day in a bud vase. 2. For th...