stray thoughts
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Light & shade

Light & beads | edgeofevening

Light & lavender on worktop | edgeofevening

Light & floorboards |edgeofevening

Light & shower curtain |edgeofevening

Light & tap |edgeofevening

Light & toothbrush |edgeofevening

The house measures the year by where the light reaches. This is our third summer here and I watched carefully for the day the light claimed the worktop, the bathroom, the wall above our bed. There are places it catches that still catch me by surprise. So: this is summer once again. Here in the spilled honey of the worktop, in the gleam of the basin taps, in the pearlescent glow of a plastic bead. I will admit, I’ve collected these moments this year, but I’ve never quite believed in summer.

A cloudy day. The reflected flash of blue on the black TV screen before an ambulance pulled up outside. One of our dear neighbours — the neighbour who held our street together with her kindness, the neighbour who lent us Rasmus and the Tramp — died suddenly this week. Her car is still parked, uncharacteristically well, opposite her house. She babysat and tutored many of the children in our area, so it’s been a week filled with our own sadness for her and for her family, and also the sadness of the many small people she encouraged and loved. On the same day, another neighbour gave birth by planned caesarean to a much longed-for baby. There are only twenty houses on our street. Light and shade. Always light and shade.


  1. Oh, I’m so very sorry to hear about your neighbour. The shade moves with unexpected swiftness but – and not meaning to sound at all pious – I hope she’s in the light now.

    • Thanks, Louise. We’ve decided that since she accounted for so very many of the kind acts on the road, we will now have to do more to make up for the loss of her share. Started today by bringing another neighbour’s bin back round to the garden for her after watching her struggle with it yesterday & wondered why I’d never thought to offer such a simple kindness before. There’s always something to be learnt.

      • I like to think the noticing and the learning that there are all sorts of small, unanticipated kindnesses one can offer is the sweet side of such a bitter event. Hope that makes sense (it’s late and I am tired)!

  2. Casey Mahood says

    A lovely post today — “flash of blue on the black TV screen.” Thanks for sharing it.

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