Nightwalking

I’m limping and staggering even before reaching the front gate, scared of falling and breaking something – again. So try to cheer myself up with thoughts of how the trees are getting ready for summer.

Glad rags

There’s blossom already decorating their limbs; it makes me think of putting on mascara to meet my husband before we were married. These days, I’m doing well if I manage to get dressed at all.

The criss-cross patchwork of tree branches has filled out with leaf in recent weeks, covering up the empty irregular patches of sky we got used to over the winter.

I manage to go a few metres further than I did two days ago. My delight is short-lived; my legs shake uncontrollably as I start the return journey home. A couple of passers-by look at me a little strangely, I don’t know why.

The beast recovers

I first met my husband on a walking holiday in France, and I can’t help thinking of those far-away days as I turn the Beast of Burden around and start staggering home.

Maybe I should just try to be grateful that I had those adventures when I still could.

Walking daily

It’s only when I get home that I realise what I’ve done wrong.

I’m still in my nightie.

Image Hattie Fowler


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