A gumptious day Alisha cries, flinging open the windows. The sun bares his burnished chest, the peartree dips its blossoms, a crow flaps a languid wingspan from the fence to the chimney. Alisha takes hold of the morning at both corners and shakes it out like a clean sheet.
High in the attic, Rex is spinning something luscious out of yesterday's horrific news. When I put my head around the door he looks up at me, dismay or despair suddenly wintering his gaze. I go to him and lay my head upoin his hands. He spreads my hair across the Bible and recites the words of Deuteronomy, the text of which is painted in delicate script along the eaves of the attic. When he is done, he pops a jonquil into my collar and hopes my day is perfect.
The house of sleep turns over and moans softly.
I creep back down to the bipartite kitchen, split between the realms of kettle and cauldron. There is the familiar smell of cordite and gas as I light the sharp blue flame beneath the pot. Soon I will begin the journey, take myself out upon the surface of the precious mile, begin the day again, fully formed, immaculate.
The copyright for this blog belongs to Claire Steele