Monday, 20 July 2009
Bit oft this
4 white butterflies have pegged themselves out to dry, clinging onto blades of grass, warming themselves in the early morning sun.
His 85 year old feet dance at the club he tells me. He has been so patient while I try and get my fumbling fingers around this nail clipping lark. I realize he is late for something when he glances at his watch. "Yep" he says "I am meeting the granddaughter". We quickly phone her, he will be skipping up the road to meet her shortly. (i hope).
I'll drop in after work". He knows perfectly well Monday nights is pilates night. But I am kept warm by the prospect, however fleeting the visit. The hardest part will admitting to the friend I take, the fact that I am such a saddo living for such a meagre crumb, I am skipping class. But to me it will be like a feast, the memory of which will linger for weeks. If he fails to show at least he will have spoken a whole sentence to me directly, and I have had a day of happy anticipation. So there.
Bit of that
You never stop fretting