When I woke this morning; it was spring.
(Something about the light.)
There were clouds in the west and it had rained heavily in the night but, none the less, briefly, it was spring.
(I had a fit on Saturday evening and it takes several days to recover)
- but joyfully - I crossed the room and looked out.
My garden is aerial.
(And easily misunderstood from below.)
From above (which means from my bedroom window) anyone would immediately see its inconvenient paths are really a small, knotted maze.
The tops of bushes, of roses and Bay level with my bed.
So does the Spanish Broom.
Well - hover flies already are hovering there!
These aphids cling close; no space between.
Close up - gross.
* * * * *
Greenfly are ok.
If they mass on the rose which crosses the gate, I take my broom, lift it skywards - and sweep.
I don't clean my house. Not much. Not often.
But gardening is different.
So are Woolly aphids.
I tried binoculars.
Ming's were in the shed.
Woolly aphids? Can't tell.
* * * * *
Didcott's surviving though.
It was the first time he'd seen me have a fit.
Not that it's very dramatic.
It was supper. Didcott saw me slump, leapt up; caught me, fork in hand.
Nearly impaled my face.
Didcott was frightened by my fit.
It was his fork which terrified me!
* * * * *
There was a rainstorm, that night too.
(The so-much-rain-falling-in-only-five-seconds-it-seems-as-if-the-world-is-falling-apart kind of rainstorm.)
Worthing was ten for an hour. (So he could have a bath, I think.)
As I fell asleep, I noticed his silhouette in front of the opened window; next to Didcott's.
I could hear them sniffing the rain.
(They were facing east, rain comes from the west here; nearly always.)
A kindly prison guard phoned yesterday.
Ming is worried about the Syllabubs. Please would I visit them?
Just wait, I said, until I can walk more than ten feet again. Then, I said, I will.