We are back in our seaside flat. The Channel has been turquoise and navy blue and is a sparkling sky blue at the moment. The balcony is flourishing - the flowers are all out - and Bea's garden was looking wonderful. Col took her back home yesterday. The Brighton branch of the family now has an offer on their house - so it must be Bea's turn for an offer next.
It was great to see the family and old friends and I did wonder about what it would be like to move back up North... but we are very happy here. Especially Captain B as this is butterfly central. And I don't think I could take the winters - its not the cold, its the slippery icy slopes - the fear of falling and breaking something.
As it says in the haunting, poetic, inspired evocation of old age in Ecclesiastes:
"Also, they have become afraid merely at what is high, and there are terrors in the way. And the almond tree carries blossoms, and the grasshopper drags itself along, and the caper berry bursts, because man is walking to his long-lasting house and the wailers have marched around in the street;"
Afraid merely at what is high. Yes, isn't the thought of going up a step ladder frightening when you get old?
And 'terrors in the way'. When we were young, we used to make slides on icy pavements to make them even slippier so we could hurl ourselves along them. It makes me feel faint to think about it now.
An icy road is a terror indeed.
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