Friday July 16th

Day 87

Yesterday was the hundredth day since my sweet writing niece started her blog - ‘100 di Questi Giorni’ - looking for the poetry in the ordinary, always finding something to celebrate on non-birthdays. Which she has done - most beautifully, one day at a time.

Gently, she prodded me to start my own writing journey. I’m so happy that she, like me, can’t stop at a hundred.

This afternoon feeling grumpy and hungry - missing the solace of cooking - I didn’t want to stop and listen to the song of a bird - loud bubbling notes cascading somewhere through the canopy of trees above us - while we walked along a red muddy path. But my husband said,

“Look, there he is.”

At first I couldn’t spot him it was so dark in the shade of the undergrowth. Then he flashed onto a low branch, a tiny wren with his signature upright stick of a tail, still singing his heart out. I said,

“How can something so small make such a loud noise?”

I imagine it’s his special talent.

Tonight I will cook a hot green vegetable soup bright with peas and courgettes, garlic and spinach - to mark the end of our cold juicing journey. Something to celebrate - as special as the wren’s song.