Show And Tell

So here I am in my life and I wish I could show it to you. Because it's so like yours and in other ways so different, and I know, because this is one of the ways we're alike, that you find that interesting. The similarities, the differences. I'll show you my kitchen, where I can just hear the wind in the flue, newly installed for the woodburning stove. On the chair is my mat with my gradually wearing out healthy back bag. I'm just back from my Feldenkrais class, where we lifted and lowered our pelvises in different orientations, lying and kneeling. Where I somehow shed the anxiety that had plagued me all day, and began to breathe more deeply, and ended up with my feet on the ground. Where I thought how amazing it is that I've been doing this class faithfully for maybe six years now, while a changing cast of classmates has come and gone, returned, departed. How committed I can be when something is right.

On the table a small vase of sweet peas from the garden. How the bright spotlights over in the cooking area cast funny long shadows on the cupboards, shadows of the door knobs which are unpainted wood. The inch of white wine in the bottom of a bottle of Sauvignon, brought to dinner by friends on Friday, and not, inexplicably, finished, then or since. A honey and sunflower loaf defrosting for me to take to my poets' meeting tomorrow, where we never normally have lunch, but this time plan to, to accommodate the host's changed schedule for the day. She will make soup, I will bring bread, and brie from Lidl, where we went today and bought fizzy water, tinned tomatoes, apple juice and Mr Choc caramel and biscuit bars, over which purchase we had much debate... but still bought them in the end. My credit card bill, the unfinished sudoku from Saturday's Guardian, a book about neuroscience research and therapy that I'm trying to get back to after a gap of a few months. A pile of papers, notebooks, folder relating to one of my jobs, my diary on top on the little four legged stool we use as a coffee table.

While outside autumn slowly devours the tail end of summer, breathing warmly, chasing bright leaves scratchily along the road.

All is well.