Milky

The sky is milky and the red-tailed hawks are circling the house, floating on the wind. You'd think it were winter, but the magnolia tree is beginning to bud, and on the balcony of the blue room, there is a climber with white flowers, and some are opening. It's a Juliet balcony, and now I understand why. We walked past the teddy bear sheep who are so cute you want to take them home (South Down) and through the common, and lamented the detritus on the road ("It's all stimulants" noted my Bald Eagle, "which means it's bloody lorry drivers") and want to go out with luminous yellow jackets, spikey forks and black bags to pick the stuff up, and post signs that say "Your Mother Doesn't Work Here" and "Keep Britain Tidy" and "Oy, You Yobbo, Don't Throw Your Rubbish Out The Window." It's so close now, the Covid. Our builder, the ladies who run the barn where my horse is, two close friends and their partners all have it. It's now here, absolutely in our community, in our midst, in this little rural part of England, despite best efforts, it's here. We greet Amazon deliveries in masks, wash our hands after each package is handed over. We distance in the food stores, I even turn my back if someone is near me without a mask (what on earth is that about?).  He has a cough he has had for ever and it worries me. I say, perhaps you should get a lung scan, and he grumbles and mumbles something about it being okay. I don't want the virus to get near him. He is strong and brave and muscled but the cough isn't good.

I shall make sesame noodles for lunch. He says spaghetti and noodles remind him of snakes. Perhaps I shall cut them up. I only know I crave them. With scallions and thin matchsticks of cucumber on top.

We've put out four bird feeders now that it's colder. I like to sit in the kitchen quietly and watch the coal tits fight over it. He has been raking leaves, in an orange jacket from LL Bean. I see him from my desk when he walks by, and looks up. 

I long for a warm turquoise sea, and a mask and snorkel, and that feeling of the salt and the sun gently crackling your skin. I don't know how long it will be until that is possible.

Take care, my friends. Happy new year.