I feel light.
I’ve been writing – for myself not just for a buck.
I can see the point of folding washing and clearing plates for the morning.
If something goes poorly, there isn’t a brick of dread sat in my throat trying to choke me on panic.
I can say “Oh well, what does it matter?” to late trains, blocked drains, sudden rains.
I can feel grateful for pecan maple pastries and a drop of cream in my coffee tomorrow.
For a crumble made with blackberries I picked myself.
It makes a difference. This lightness – it makes a difference.