1 year ago I wrote a post (linked above). I think of that post a lot. I can still feel that afternoon, be back in that moment. It was so calm, so peaceful, and so much a window into my day. On cold rainy days, I remember the warmth of the sun on that evening, and the red glow which filled the room. And on noisy loud days I long for that sense of connection back to the absolute here and now the noises around me had. 1 year later, how is this day going?
The air is still and close as clouds draw down, heavy with rain which has not fallen, and probably wont in any quantity. It is muggy, but not oppressive. All day lorikeets have tweetered in surrounding trees, filling the air with dense bird calls. Now they have moved on. Evening plane flights echo areoplane engine noise off the low clouds. An international flight. A domestic flight. Trains rattle in the distance, but their sound is muffled. Pia is restless on the floor, a little under the weather and in clean clothes after another mammoth day of vomiting - on me, on the floor, in a cafe. Her breathing is sharp, but her little mouth puckers out. The two fighting cats are slowly, tentatively coming back together. On my left the little one is the furthest into the living room she has been since July. The big cat is not happy and has just moved to a higher stand point to stake claim of dominance. The parrots have returned. There are no smells, no cooking, no tv's and no chatter amongst neighbours. Apart from traffic, plane and train noise there is, surreally, no other noise. We had our afternoon excitement of a procession of sirened vehicles - a fire truck, an ambulance, 2 police cars and a police rescue vehicle race past. I know as an adult that amount of sirens in procession is not a good outcome for someone. Max wanted to know why. But why. Max is in his room, tired and grumpy, putting together his elaborate lego space ships. He loves lego. And he loves space ships. I can hear the frustration levels building as he throws each piece down harder and louder. His concept of structural stability needs developing in order to keep up with his imagination. The light - the light is weird, strange yellow white bright light of rain cloud filters. Everything looks sharp. The cats are calling for dinner, and soon I will cook our own dinner which neither child will eat because one will have fallen asleep and the other will have thrown up all over everything. Again. My evergreen magnolia tree has two flower buds I can see from here, ready and poised to open, maybe tomorrow. My head is fuzzy from days of broken sleep this week, late nights, and frustrated days at work. Cat Stevens is in my head. I thank the supermarket tannoy system for the Boyzone rendition. There is knitting beside me - new knitting, swatch knitting*, unfinished knitting, and a room full of material ready to be sewed, later.