0. (Something I forgot from Thursday) I know it’s invasive and bad in so many ways, but I love the smell of Himalayan Balsam. As I walk through the horses field to the canal, it reminds me generally of childhood and specifically of the times John and I first identified and remembered the smell (at Kirkstall Abbey), and of the time when I breathed it in while watching dogs play at the bottom of Shipley Glen.
1. The sudden change in the dog when she sees trees out of the car windows: from a completely shutdown grump slumped in the footwell to shining eyes and a hopeful pant as she looks this way and that.
2. I watch two little scenes transpire at the supermarket – simple interactions but ones outside my grasp for one reason or another. I register the positioning, the tones and the (not so hidden) intentions. The everyday is extraordinary sometimes.
3. I perch one of the red chickens on my knee so we can all stroke it. I’m always surprised how soft the feathers feel, how cool and smooth. (I’m also glad that she doesn’t poo.)