Friday, January 24, 2014

At the end of Friday

It has rained all day. In the evening dark the landscape shines with bright brown rivers. The Le Gers clay resists water, impressive puddles form, they sweep aside the green mid-winter wheat stalks.

In waterproof, hat, gloves and long boots I negotiate the path to the hens, push their food under the shelter and collect three eggs. One is still warm. One is brown, One is speckled. The ground inside their run shines with slippiness.

Inside is cosy. Crumble sleeps after more medication and a tin of cat food as recommended by the vet. We have towels to hand to dry the dogs on their return from comfort breaks.

Another acceptance, and I spend a little time thinking about putting the personal on the public page. My 52poem this week draws on my diagnosis with cancer in 2012. The Fish flash fiction course encourages the excavation of the past, calls on me to think of how people I know think and act ... and there is wonderful material out there in my experiences for me.  Even an unreliable memory tells some of the truth, and so it should.

More next week from England ... hope your weekend is good.

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