‘Well, we must wait for the future to show,’ said Mr Bankes, coming in from the terrace.
‘It’s almost too dark to see,’ said Andrew coming up from the beach.
‘One can hardly tell which is the sea and which is the land,’ said Prue.To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
A thin white January sky. The Biscuit is five and a half, the Moose is two and three-quarters, the Pip Pop is five weeks. Like Max in The Wild Things we have sailed in and out of weeks and this is where we have landed: here in the thick of parenthood, here with three car seats lined up in the back of the car, here in a thick tangle of love and children.