Moments

Often I think I should write down those transient moments when all seems right with the world: yesterday in town, meeting C. for lunch in Insomnia, he bright-eyed and alive with the triumph of handing in corrections to his thesis, all but philosophiae doctor already; the sun gleaming through green onto pavement, hard fierce hugs and good soup so thick I could spread it on my bread - and I did. (Practically goulash!) Magister in artibus, domine, talking archaeology and French anthropology and all the ups and downs of life.

Last night with a cat on my lap and the mild scent of May on the breeze. This morning, awake before nine (so long have my sleep patterns been askew that every morning feels like a triumph), sunlight alive in a sky dusted with clouds. Writing a letter to my Oxonian friends. Walking down to the beach past the Martello tower, facing north. Taking off my shoes to walk on sand, through water, at the edge of a low, low tide. The sea a-glitter with light, a breeze gusting rich with seaweed and silt.

Happy birthday, rysmiel.