Stormy, windy, travelling. Coffee. At other tables people speak intently, a mash of conversations backed by schmaltzy music, coffee machine and the clatter of passing shoppers. I am learning to find some core quiet in crowded spaces but, still, fragments break through.
In the bus on the way home, many gardens, including the wonderful Loch Ness Monster at 338. I think of day lilies, and what it must be like to be pregnant with a new self every morning, watching it grow with grace in the sunlight, and folding it away gently, wrinkled and spent in the evening. Hope, joy and grieving in a day.