Birdsong (10)

I miss her. I miss them. I want to connect, to see my loved ones. But it must be put on hold. Such is life. Not what we want but what we need. Possibly? Dorothy L Sayers grows more and more interesting to me. I don’t miss my breakfast puzzling, the reading is proving most rewarding. See a small mercy. I tell him all. It tumbles out, all that self-baracking. He understands mostly and when he doesn’t he tries to. What more can one ask? Too much to do. At least I set myself too much to do. Crowding out the creative work, on purpose? Perhaps. The scary bit. The wild bit. The untrammeled bit. Cleaning and cleaning. Nice when it is done though. And mending and emailing. Then shopping and putting it away and then? Then? Sitting and thinking and trying and working. It is enough. And there is the sun and the birdsong. Mopping the floors is made OK with Radio 3 up loud and Petroc warm voice and the sun shining in through the (dirty) windows. Thank you.