In Transit (5)

I’m off again. I don’t want to be. I want to be still. There is so much work I want to do. And the peace of being still. I yearn for it. Yet, I have an hour before we are off. That is something.

No rain this morning, just a momentary drizzle. A rogue cloud probably. I woke from a dream where I was breakfasting with an old friend. He is dying. His wife had to go to an appointment leaving us to breakfast together. He was a little awkward, as was I. We had to go downstairs in this enormous house. I laid it out ready on a table by two huge red velvet armchairs. He was distracted. There were other people about. Perhaps it was a hotel, or a canteen. Nothing happened. It’s portent seemed to rest on our discomfiture. At one point he directed me towards where to find the coffee and tea. He appeared to know his way around. He was detached, almost laughing at me, as can be his wont.

The sky is slightly pink. The clouds hang in the air, barely moving. No wind. We shall stop for coffees on the way and do crosswords. No hurry, no stress.

I will accept what is. I will trust. Show me how.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.