Three beautiful things most days.
1. Tea from a large blue willow pattern pot.
2. We stop to look at a dead moth, luminous grey on the dark shaded leaf litter, weightless as a shadow on my hand.
3. The smell of campfire smoke in Bettany's hair.
1. When I come down, she is making pancakes to an invented recipe. 2. I let the parsley go to seed. I regret the drooping bitter leaves that...
