A clear, still night and a tawny owl’s calls are distinctly audible at 2 a.m. The three-quarter moon casts silver light on the bedroom wall through a gap in the curtains.
Day comes with sunshine accompanied, at last, by warmth. I spent a couple of hours soaking up sunbeams stretched out on a bench; birdsong and a hover-fly for company.
When could I last find the time to lie on my back and watch clouds shift shape against the blue sky? August, in a Somerset field, on a blanket with you?
We speak by phone. You ask, “Why aren’t you here?”