In between the rain, here's where I go to sit, beside the pink valerian and the last golden wallflowers. The notebook is eager to get on, turns its own pages ahead of me in the snappy wind. I clip them down, wrap up warm, tuck in.
A blackbird picks through the loose gravel beside my feet, though I brought no picnic. That dog who always seems to have a smile on his face strolls by, sniffs and sniffs again while his owner waits near the road. The jogger who yells at himself to COME ON huffs past, sweat mapping his grey shirt. The fisherman who rows out from his net strewn gaff, who drags his yellow boat across an acre of shifting stones, who hauls it into the silver surf, slips free of land towards the pier.
Back to work. It's hard to sit still after the celebrations. After millions of us turned as one, gazed towards Elizabeth and Venus, pointed the camera, shielded our eyes from the sun, it seems like we fell thoughtful.
Another blackbird I wrote about is soon to appear in Fiona Dempster's beautiful calligraphy at an exhibition across in Portland, Oregon. Here's the link to Fiona's blog post which tells you all about it. Thanks to Fiona for submitting a piece we both enjoyed working on.