Monday 15th November
Day 208
Early this morning when I slosh warm water over my car windscreen its coating of thin ice shatters and re-freezes like crackled moonlight.
At lunch time, eating our mushroom pilaf my husband says,
‘I’m finding it hard at the moment.’
Me too. Not hard like waiting for the bailiffs or living with teenagers, or cancer in my bones.
Just that it feels an effort to post my letters, to walk to the library, to make a pot of leek soup, to sort my in-tray. I’m missing the long light of summer. Even on a bright day like today my blood runs slow - clogged with ice floes.
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