journal of a writing man

Wednesday March 12, 2008

The wind blew.  The hail rattled against the window, taking turns with the slashing rain showers.  It was a perfect day to stay home in the warm and dry.

“Did you say you wanted to go to the garden centre?” I asked.

“Yes, but not urgently. Why?”

“I’ve got a bad case of cabin fever and need to get out of the house for a break.”

“Right. Now?”

“Yup. Now.”

And so we buzzed over to Moncton Elm, arriving as we so often do in the gap between breakfast and lunch.  I had an almost frozen sandwich and a cup of black tea, not what you’d call comfort food, but it did as well as I could reasonably expect.

It was decidedly draughty out in the planty places, with pots and stuff blowing about in the gale. Graham had caught my need for outdoor fun, though, so we giggled our way through. 

A distinctly wind-swept duck whistled past my ear to land on the big ornamental pond, to my great delight.

“Oh, boy,” I said.  “That’s what you call a pond!”

A full-size weeping willow trailed its skirt of branches in the water, providing a bit of shelter for the grateful duck.

It wasn’t the most earth-shattering of outings, though we did manage to secure a replacement pot for Charlie, our cyclamen, who had been made homeless by the fallen fence in the last great storm.  And that was, after all, the main object of the exercise from Graham’s point of view.

We caught our breath while sitting in the car as I regained my sanity sufficient to drive home.

“You need a hair cut again,” Graham said.  “You look like the wreck of the Hesperus.”

“So would you if you had any hair left to cut.”

It struck us as beautifully warm and snug when we came through the front door into the house.  I smiled happily enough, and sang a merry little song as I fixed our lunch:

“It’s a lovely day today
So whatever you’ve got to do
You’ve got a lovely day to do it in, that’s true”

“You sound cheerful again,” Graham said.

“Oh, yes.  All my cobwebs have been swept away. Doesn’t take much to make me happy.”