She’s grown up now. A proper woman. A wonderful mother. I am so proud of her. Happy birthday for yesterday my love, my darling girl.
The moon was a full circle. I think it’s a new one, in Scorpio. Thanks for that, he said when I told him at breakfast yesterday. It might be a good omen, I said, not a bad one. Auspicious, I said, particularly for Scorpios.
The air smelt of boiled sweets outside Tesco’s loading bay. I pass it as I walk. Another Eddie Stobart lorry was dropping off its load. It hissed as the steam from its engine fizzed out. I thought of the sound of the New York streets I walked seven almost eight years ago. There was that same hissing of truck engines there. And the smell of fried doughnuts and waffles from the pavement food vans that opened up early, just like the diners. Could it really have been so long ago?
I go to sleep in the daylight and wake in the dark, ridiculous, I know. But by waking early I have so much of the town to myself, and it has to be safer, doesn’t it? I saw no one else walking, except for a figure making its way up Penglais Hill, then just a police car and another civilian one. I fall asleep to the sound of the birds, the wood pigeon mostly. Woodrow Wilson we call it, and the one we used to see and hear in Spain. A universal name for wood pigeons, seemingly. And why not?
The morning is quiet. He has gone for his walk and I’m about to start work. I want to find pleasure in all that I do. I’m often in the dark about what they want so I try to enjoy the ‘freedom’ of that not knowing, even though I’m acutely aware that it may be rejected. So far so good, as they say. Grant me brilliance, this day and always. And show me how best to help her. She chattered away. The discomfort was mine. I never feel good enough for her or indeed for anybody. Was I born that way? So uncertain of my own worth? Can I learn to accept even that? Help me.
