Whatever the weather, and whoever is there, I always walk through the volleyball pitch sand. It reminds me of home.
This morning, in wonderful sun, there was only me.
The first cold day, today. In blinding sun, I sit behind groyne no.9, out of a cruel and cutting wind that snatches at the pages of my notebook. Hot enough sheltering there, to take off my jacket and scarf. Before the end of the page, I had closed my eyes. The sun had pulled me into sleep at word 53.
The nectarines refused to ripen in the bowl as the label promised. I am stewing them, as I write, with a handful of blueberries, dark sugar, and a tablespoon of wine. The house is fragrant with their nectar. Now they are doomed.
Just before I clicked on PUBLISH POST, I had to try them so you would know. No surprises, really - heaven in a bowl.