On an uncertain wobbly edge....

A dear friend says that on the day of Robin's funeral she wanted to walk in that liminal place where the land meets the sea. I don't know where she went but I sought it out too on Friday at Budleigh Salterton.....  where the wild crows live and hunt on that pebble -wave threshold. Not sure where I live anymore - on an uncertain wobbly edge somewhere.

Late afternoon on Saturday I walk in the woods at Killerton .....wading through memories....the smell of damp earth and wet leaves rising up from the paths.

It's the season of fungi,

and multiplying mushrooms.

On Sunday, visiting the cemetery where my parents are buried, I came across this rash of  black mushrooms, sprouting up between the line of graves....

 orange ruffed cups of sponge burnt crisp on the edges. The persistence of life...springing out of a burial ground.

Today, looking for Robin's will I find that it is only a photo copy. The bank needs the original. We made our wills in 1999 when we lived in St Albans. I have no record of the solicitors - only an address. With the help of Google I track them down ....send copies of the death certificate and evidence of my identity .....they will send the originals. 

 Later in town when I try and close one of our other accounts at a different bank the procedure is so long  and tedious I nearly fall asleep at the counter. It's called registering a bereavement. I'm suddenly exhausted by it all. I sit in the waiting area and someone brings me a paper cup of water. In the end they say they can't close the account yet but give me a cheque anyway.

I just want to go  home, I buy a 2017 diary I (although I can't imagine what next year could possibly bring) ......book the restaurant for tomorrow when my cousin and his wife are coming to take me out to lunch....but forget to buy euros for when I go away on Friday.

At home I heat up a bowl of brown rice and the veggies I cooked the other day with lots of soya sauce and tahini stirred in.

Then  I creep under the duvet and doze for a bit only waking when it's getting dark...in that twilight time they call dimpsy here in Devon.... in that place where the light dies.... again and again.