He is kind. It is his kindness that makes me love him the most. I just popped downstairs, he said when he returned with the last lot of shopping from the car. Downstairs is our neighbour, now 103 or is it 104. She is on her own and doing fine. He is better with her than I am. He is kind. She is deaf and virtually blind, though if she peers she can make her way with her stick around the estate and take her rest on the pile of waste materials in the wilderness that we refer to as our garden. From what he reported back she clearly appreciated the gesture. Pop in any time, she said.
The moon stopped my breath this morning. I’d seen it through my studio window at 2.00am and it had been pretty stunning then but walking out onto the Prom from the riverside it was before me, squat, huge and orange. Is it a full moon today? I asked him at breakfast. He googled it. Yes, he said, it’s a full strawberry moon. Like this. And he showed me a picture. Ours is more orange, I said.
Being a Tuesday the seagulls had been at the bins. Do they know it’s bin day? They make a god-awful mess. Litter, plastic bottles and foodstuffs are strewn across roads and pavements. I picked up a pizza box from the middle of the road and took it to a pile of recycling waiting for collection. The rest I couldn’t bring myself to handle. It is too much. They are the very devil but they are just doing what they do.
Writing again today. Let her be warm.
