Sunday, 7 June 2020

The chink of metal spoon ...

... on cereal bowl, Tod is eating porridge.

The soft shush of Vita's breathing. She lies asleep in the corridor, spread the whole width so we cannot escape.

The quiet murmur from Bertie, so quiet it's barely there, as he dreams on the armchair behind me.

A bird taps briefly on the window and then is gone.

Right here, right now, all is well.