From our bedroom window, a towerblock in Flowertown looks like a castle at night. The whole structure has been scaffolded and meshed-in(for painting) so that the apartment lights are muted. The roof appears as if turreted. So lying on my bed, its not hard to imagine the tortuous treck to the dark castle on the hill. The grave porter.
The school has far too few students now to survive for any great length of time. It has disappointing to see the names of so many favourites crossed out in the roll. I guess we have a few months to turn things around, at best. I know we can, even if the competition is fierce.
Tom made the trip effortlessly, hardly crying or even lifting his head. He has cried quite a lot since though, perhaps in compensation. Journeys are not easy for me. I think I'm a perpetual creature of habit, disliking change where it takes me from the comfort zone. But I do like coming here. Everything is familiar - the house, the car, our cups and bed.
That vase.
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