How did it happen? How did I get this edge? This edgy feeling, this bristle, the persona of some salty old dog. I never was at sea. Not very wise either. Thinks to much but doesn't do anything with it. Shame really.
In the dark mornings it is hard to find the floor. There are pale shadows running down like they spent their career in dampness prevention. I screw on the tap and plug the kettle in. I open the jar and check the milk. Nobody has Ovaltine first thing in the morning. Nobody who knows anything.
Rain is on the windows. The wind comes and goes and rattles the chimney flue. There are ashes in the fireplace. I will clean it later and bring in more firewood. They say they might outlaw log burners soon and push heat pumps onto us. The common good requires it. I feel I am too far down the road for that.
They do not understand the insulation problems in most Scottish houses, the way they were built back then. Heat pumps are not enough. Understanding a problem before acting is not a skill much valued now. It is better to do something that sounds right and makes a good line. Usually it is the first thing that comes to mind, or to the mind of an adviser with a degree in Australian style cookery. The BBC will carry it.
I breathe out and drop the part I was playing. Enough of that. I say it quietly to the shadows. I take my time and watch them fade into the wall, or wherever shadows go when they are finished.
Outside the light is dim. I fill the feeders so the birds can eat early. There is still some quiet satisfaction to be found there. Outside with the cold rain on your face. Improperly dressed I suppose. A strong silence beats the thunder of a vacuum.
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