At the start of the year, I intended to be here more often, to try and post at least a couple of times a week. All went well for most of January, but then health got in the way of things. A sore throat became an all-over ache, soon progressing to breathlessness and feeling pretty low. My doctor prescribed a course of antibiotics and they do seem to be moving things in the right direction.
I even managed a bake at the weekend. A rather wonderful orange, ginger & parsnip cake, that helped with the rehabilitation process no end. I’ll write more about it when I’m feeling a bit better.
In the meantime, and to keep the blogging momentum going, I’m sharing a very short piece of fiction I wrote in response to a 100-word writing challenge my friend Alison posted on her blog. Other than the length the challenge was that the story had to reference winter and include the word moist.
I wrote you a note. Yesterday sat in the cafe, sheltering from the December rain and sleet, trying to sort my thoughts.
Then my coffee came. The girl behind the counter, the one with the French look who always makes me lose my train of thought, brought it to my window seat. The moist, steamed-up window I’d been using as a pad. My finger tracing out the words.
We didn’t speak for long, never do, but when I turned back the windows were clearing, and the note was gone.
Maybe it slipped out the door while I wasn’t looking.
David in the kitchen. 