Monday, November 07, 2011

Dust, gap and reflection.

1. When Nick and I go down to retrieve the balls Alec has dropped on Nana and Grandad's kitchen floor, we am impressed at how clean it is. "I sweep it every day," says Grandad, "And mop it a couple of times a week. He goes on to wonder idly about the make-up of 'flick'. "It's from us, I suppose," he says. "And dead people." It makes me think of a poem by Emily Dickenson --
This quiet dust was Gentlemen and Ladies,
And Lads and Girls:
Was laughter and ability and sighing,
And frocks and curls.
2. As I am putting Alec in the push chair, I feel a light touch on my back where my top has ridden up and my trousers are too loose. "It wasn't me," says Grandad.
"You get yourself a longer vest," says Nana.

3. There is a flashing orange light in the car park on the other side of the lake. The elongated shadows of walkers fall into its reflection on the water.