Sunday, 13 March 2011
In our garden just now, my dear one is chopping up bits of the great pile of prunings I made, to either shred or take to the tip. There is a very very light rain falling, the sort that prickles your forehead with gentle touches of chill. In a tree are two very fat pigeons quietly preening, the sky is soft grey and a blackbird is singing. It is a tranquil scene, a quiet English Sunday Afternoon, peaceful. I am so grateful that we are here in this happy spot we've found, and not on the other side of the world, fruitlessly hunting for loved ones or precious possessions forever swept away, in the aftermath of nature's massive, inexorable movements.