Sunday May 2nd

Day 13

In the end it wasn’t the sweetcorn fritters, gold bright with chips of red chilli and splashed with coriander leaf, that made the difference. It was the conversation; swinging four ways between us; tossing kernels of truth, buried in love, onto the table. Sometimes we made alchemy from them, sometimes we spat them out. All of it feeding me, mending me.

Afterwards, my love and I, we carried these raw rough gems to the moorland where the wind was crashing like waves in the pine trees and the gorse blazed in sun storms. And I saw how hope blossoms in me when I open to the tender gift of friendship.