4.1.18 School run
We had watched the storm gratefully from inside yesterday, but today we were required to get better acquainted: today it was back to school and back to work.
It was not a good start. We resented the darkness and the cold rain with every angle of our backs that we could stiffen, hunched and grumpy. The school playground always floods and so we had waited in the lake that had formed. From under my hood, all I could see were legs: grey flamingos, tucking in as much of ourselves that we could manage.
But then Jonas had bobbed up next to my chair missing both top front teeth and delighted in demonstrating that he could no longer say his own name, all esses lost to him for the foreseeable, or the foretheeable, if you are Jonas. The wind hissed around him as he laughed and tried over and over, as if it were whipping the sound right out of his mouth, and all darkness was forgotten.
Because I am lower to the ground than other adults, children talk to me. The other advantage is that it gives me a better view of the puddles and the patterns they make. Here are two I loved today that made me stop. A mirror cracked in one, and the finer lines of a million yellowing Christmas tree needles in the other: one formed by water and one by wind and both unequivocally January, which was entirely what today was made of.