Bit of this

Another dazzlingly bright, bitter cold day. I have wacked the ice, from a baking tray morphed into a bird bath, countless times. Very satisfying using as much force as I can, and then to hear the splat followed by glistening shattered ice dancing across the path. Corse the best bit is to see the birds dipping their beaks in minutes after.

My mop bucket leaks. Hands and knees are required. I had forgotten how much I used to love scrubbing floors. I remember how I would come down in the early hours and expend much pent up emotion of one sort or another and have the bonus of a clean floor.

That reminds me of seeing my mother on bended knee washing a scrap a cardinal red floor. The preferred way of covering concrete floors for the impoverished. I loved those bits of floor. I wonder if it is still there under someone's fitted carpet or wooden flooring.

Bit of this

There is a hole in my bucket

I also remember me mother teaching it to me. This would have to be one of my inheritance tracks.