Day 598: Top & Teeth

This is Victoria in my cupboard,
years ago.

Yesterday, I had my top on back to front all day. Thank you for not saying, even though my throat was all coddled in it and my nape was all bare. And thank you that I'm not a teenager any more. It'd have taken me an aeon to get over that as a teen.

Thanks for that Victoria Sandison and that Sue Hayes and that Greg Vukasovic and that tiny Aristotle. Vic's been here for three days, on and off, and it's been easy like good friendship is. The first time we saw each other this trip was a feast. People who've been fed on gruel but live in the memory of nourishment suddenly getting a whole joyful buffet to dig into. Ooh, the vol-au-vents! Oh god, the sprouting broccoli! The puddings!

This time it was just good, healthy ease. Lovely to have her there. Moreish, but every morsel a bonus. I wasn't craving any more because if at all, I only really expected to see her properly that once, after plans changed, so to have her here during that time was a gift. 

Step away from the goofy gosling

Thank you Veal, for being a joy to play with. Thank you, Greg, for being delightful. Thank you, Ruth, for an unplanned Heathside coffee stop before 8am yesterday, after the pond. Thank you, pond. On Monday, a little later than usual, the sun had warmed the top two inches of the water. It was warm like a blanket, and underneath, cold skin. 

Thank you for the ripples dancing up the willow trunks, and for the preeny mallards and the snippety coot; for territorial goose strutting and ungainly goslings, and for the sweetly delicate mandarin ducklings, geisha-like in their markings, curious and brave for such tiny things in such a big and teethy world.