Wednesday morning

To begin again. So many attempts to pick up, step out, move on. But I have to linger a while longer: we're in the grip of Omnicron, boosters, Storm Barra, PCR 48 hour tests and my mother is struggling.

All my life she's been a constant buzz of activities, but now, as she approaches 80, things are falling apart. It's inevitable; I know, but I'd hidden it telling myself she'll outlive her mother.

Slowly, but surely, all that comes along dissolves; washed away with the persistent rain this Wednesday morning: life fades out like a bleached stain on the fabric of existence and we become little more than the gale blown blankness on a ragged and torn sheet.

She stirs above, slowly, and I wonder if she'll moan or celebrate the morning? The sun is yet to pay us any attention as the leaves drift along the street to cling in the difficult places before they too wither into dust: it's 6:40 on the 8th December 2021...