Windy

Bringing you the issues.

Today was one of those days when you feel like the bones of your life aren't the right ones. But they are the ones that have grown, god save us, and I suppose we could break them and set them with pins or perhaps we just whip them out of the rest of the trappings like the tablecloth out from under the place-settings for twelve and put something else in there and see if it holds everything up but by then you've made a mess, no? Crystal wine-glasses teetering on their feet with ominous tinkling and everyone waits.

The wind whistled around the little house and I put on another load of laundry, reseeded the bird feeder and watched the collared doves catch a slice of sunshine before the rain started again. I made soup and read Auden because Pluvialis needed a page reference and I packaged up XtinMoum birthday presents into a natty little box and I got a thank-you note from Sir Geoffrey Hill, hand to god, bundled with a rubber band to the bikini I bought to go on a spa day with Madame O and Pluvialis.

A cold negroni and quite enough of this existential mistral, thank you.