The wonder and mystery of feathers. Warm and waterproof.
Feel disabled by the cold. Even my my brain is sluggish. In the market the wind cuts through my coat as if it's made of paper. I struggle to stuff bunches of wet kale and spinach into brown bags even with my gloves on.
In the upstairs cafe afterwards my friends warm my hands with theirs before our hot coffee arrives. They suggest Vitamin B for circulation. And sheepskin mittens.
All day I'm thinking about our friend whose funeral I'm going to tomorrow.
About how alive he is in my memory.
And how this time last year Robin had his first night in hospital. Believing he could get better.
And how lucky I am to be alive.
And how I have to think really hard to believe that it's really really true that neither of them are coming back.
Ever.
A coal tit taking a bath this morning in his waterproof coat of feathers.
No comments:
Post a Comment