Hot and sunny today - on a Bank Holiday Sunday. Col left a'butterflying early this morning - he is at the next computer blogging his day as I write. It was our last Sunday meeting at the Bognor Regis Kingdom Hall this afternoon. A lovely meeting of course, but I was very tired. We had supper at Jack's last night - a wonderful evening as always - a roast ham dinner with apple crumble and custard - and a parcel of ham to take home. Which turned up this evening as a ham salad tea.
I was watching a little girl run across the green the other day. She was probably about three - out with her parents - sturdy little legs - pink skirt. She was at that age when it is all so new and fresh and wonderful, like the morning of the world. And I was thinking how it must look to her - the vast and endless green, but also she would be very close up on all the details, not seeing the whole as such.
You are born, you come to consciousness in a world in which you are young - a world that has old people in it, fixed in their sphere as they always must have been. Maybe when I was a toddler, running across a lawn, someone who was born in the 1880s was watching me and thinking the same thoughts.
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