Figure of Eight

Its the stillest day. Not even a breath of wind. The air is body temperature. There is no feeling it on my bare skin, no tingle of cold or baking heat. My body and the atmosphere coexist in complete equilibrium.

Waiting for the oven cleaner to do its thing, I hestitate to say magic, because contrary to expectation that everything will come off easily with one wipe like it does in the adverts, its never quite like that in real life.


Butterfly watching - two peacocks and one of those black and red ones that I didn't get close enough to identify properly.

Postman rang loudly (new bell, very audible, no matter where you are in or outside the house) with a parcel. Which is good. I've been thinking they don't bother to carry the packages and drop a collection notice automatically rather than try to deliver at least once. Tesco's has gotten me hooked on a hair product (a serum that tames unruly hair prone to frizz - mine all the way) and then has discontinued it. Can't stand that. So now I'm having to order it over the internet. This is ever so slightly too dependent for my liking.

I haven't seen the mice that were living in my neighbours compost bin for a while. Been looking. A hawk of some kind swept down last week and took something small, I was hoping it wasn't a sparrow (I'm feeling like those are my pets - particularly since they are living in my roof), but if its a mouse I'm not too bothered. I tried to feel ok about them as long as they were outside the house, but they are awfully small and could fit through quite tight gaps.

Racing pigeons swoop round in a large figure of eight. This is my mind. Trying to figure out a way to get more time like this - outside, low pressure work, enjoying the daytime rather than staring longing at it from inside the office.