22.1.18 Clematis napaulensis in my back garden
Today I ran an early morning bath, a bath I'm not really safe to take but love to anyway. I slipped down into it in the dark and let myself sink low until my hair was a black halo. I pressed puckered fingers to the bottom and imagined I was something green and vital, soft seaweed, sinewy and graceful, round and light with oxygen, and that was a good way to start the day.
Today I heard the bright hello of a friend - the three-year-old brother of one of my son's classmates who has taken a shine to me. He appeared at my elbow like a wish in the playground, all grin and snot, and we talked about traffic lights, of the red and orange and green of them. I let him press the horn on my scooter and make the lights come on, front and back, as I do every day, and his face stretched into wide delight.
Today I took a slow wander down my garden path to check on my winter-flowering clematis. It is delicate but evergreen - an impossible, gorgeous thing from Nepal. Its closed flowers have hung like baubles for a month or more now and I have tried to be patient. Today, at last, I got to see the peeled back reveal of them, pink and shameless, and it was worth the wait.
Today I drank coffee in breathless gulps and let myself cry in front of someone who loves me, laughing in the next breath because that comes easier to us both.
There is more to say, of course, and today was a hard, hard day, but those were the best things, and I would rather have flowers fall out of my mouth than frogs.