Hole in the Ozone

13th December 2011 Tuesday

I was going to go shopping today. There was a nearly full moon in a thunderous slate sky when I pulled the curtains in my study this morning. At the same time the giant skeleton of the poplar tree in next door’s garden was shining like a beacon in slanting sunlight. Just before it all went squally black a pale rainbow appeared over the rooftops, a statement of faith painted over the dense cloud.

Then rain and hail waterfalled out of the sky and I gave up shopping plans - stayed at home and wrote Christmas cards instead - remembering, re-connecting to all those dear people in my address book - throwing me into their lives briefly - wondering how much you can say in a space not much bigger than the palm of my hand.

While I cook up the last of the apples stored in the shed - a bit wrinkly and pappy - but beautifully peeled and chopped by my husband, he takes a phone call from Littlewoods. It appears he has been the victim of identity theft - the clue being the two bottles of perfume ordered in his name that arrived yesterday. Even with his brain disability I knew he wouldn’t have ordered me Charlie by Revlon. It has been reported, the mobile phone also ordered by the thief to be delivered to another address, cancelled. No money lost. Just a sense of insecurity, something breached, lingering in the ether.

Like a hole appearing in the ozone layer. The opposite of a rainbow.