Yesterday, Abigail came to visit, and brought me a brioche. After some discussion with my internal parent, this is what I had for dinner: a cup of cocoa, and a brioche.
This morning, walking the dogs, an eagle flew upwind & upriver. Fighting the wind, it hovered in front of us. I wondered, is it eyeing me? Eyeing my dogs? (It is so difficult to resist making the world be about oneself.) For a long time, it hovered there, then plunged into the river and came up -- fishless.
Today another friend comes to visit from far away. Yesterday spent clearing surfaces of mail, magazines, books, long-lost & scattered notes. Pointless, really, as he and his partner are considering buying here, so will soon enough know my daily chaos anyway. Add illness to a messy & readerly temperment, and one has this disorderly mass of paper, plus dust, plus cat fur and the odd buried hair clip. I become the spinster crone.
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