This afternoon I found myself in amongst a very strange episode. I think it was supposed to be an afternoon tea for Dad but no one had their heart in it. I ate a very late lunch in silence while Dad did a crossword, Mum read a textbook and Kathryn did something on her laptop. After a while Simon came in from sunbathing on the back deck and Dad greeted him with, “Oh, do you want to join the party, do you?” which lead me to wonder what kind of party he thought we were having. I had to get out.
It was a beautiful afternoon – not too hot – and something about the way the light struggled to find its way into our lair downstairs reminded me that going for a nice long walk on a Sunday afternoon is usually a good thing to do. Might help me to clear my head and regain perspective. And I followed the (not so) new rule so I didn’t feel too weird about wandering aimlessly.
Behind this wall is what may well be my dream house.
I love you, pretty Albion Building.
Is it a boat?
No, it’s the old mill.
I love the scar across its cheek where the old bricks meet even older ones.
I discovered a street a mere two blocks from the house in which I did the bulk of my growing up that I never knew existed. And the name is fun to say.
The most awarded bus stop on the north side.
I was on the home stretch when I passed a severe lady with brick red hair. As we raised our heads to acknowledge each other she rasped, “We should feel better for doing this, shouldn’t we?”
I smiled politely at her rhetorical question and thought to myself that I did feel better for it.