It is Wednesday again, the weeks are spooling away like the line on an anglers reel. The difference is that there is no way to haul them back in again, they are gone.
Outside there is the sound of a hen laying an egg, her exertions loud and long. In the distance the sound of physical repairs to a building. The windows are open all the time, all these sounds flood in from the waking town.
It is only a small town, and it will fall back into a mid morning slumber shortly. The üpper flat is opem to both sides, it almost gives the feeling of being out of doors. It will become cold again in November, that will be when the lack of insulation will make itself felt.
Living in the upper flat is pleasant, it is somewhat separate from the family and the tensions there. Yesterday evening the cat came to visit, it wandered around purring all the while. It stayed for an hour, and then left to wander through the house on whatever cat business was on hand.
This is the anniversary of the mothers death, forty-eight years ago.
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