22:02:2022
Tried to see mum and dad yesterday to find the rivers had recruited the roads for their advance against humanity. Four storms in a week. What a battering; pressed down, pushed back, all one can do is retreat.
I’m worried about Millie and all the lumps appearing over her body. Now there’s one in her soft palette. It’s like she’s trying to clear her throat when it irritates her. I see another trip to her vet on the horizon. She’s lying across my lap listening to the press and shout of the wind, watching the spit of stinging rain. She knows she must go out but is holding everything in, in defiance of everything outside. If only our bodies were made of glass, the rain would slip and slide trailing dribbles to the floor. But we’d still get wet, I guess.
I sit here and wait with Millie Mine; with patient hope we look for a sunbeam and a patch of blue. I recall what you said to me last night when I asked you ‘what will bring my healing?’
Here, the light of the sun glows through thinning grey, as wet post flops through the letter box. God bless the postman out in this.
I cannot remember the last time I got one letter through the door and today two fly into my heart. One was covered in red hearts and said “today let His heartbeat be heard in your ears and as you listen may God’s love flow through your heart”. What a beautiful song of joy.
As the sun is forcing its way to the drowning earth, I wonder if Millie will go out with me. She’s curled up on her cushion now, with a pained expression in her eyes.
The other letter is from an old friend in Cornwall who didn’t get round to the Christmas card thing so sent me a smile on a wet and blustery Monday in February. How lovely.
It’s time for walkies, so we’ll be back in about 40 minutes.
What a contrast from the dark storm to be out in bright blue skies and glaring sunshine. Millie and I waded up and down the hedgerows in our local fields. With Millie happy sniffing and snuffling through wet grass, I began collecting all the plastic bottles and noticed they were pierced with tubes of papermate pens rammed into their sides. It took a while before I realised why they had been so skilfully adapted. What the heck! We had discovered the local drug den! Teenagers rolling down the fields high on whatever! Along with many glass bottles, green and clear, was an empty attractive looking glass of Ralph Lauren perfume. I bet the field mice are smelling sexy!
With several poo bags of bottles and other foul smelling litter we marched for the bin at the entrance to the school. A jogger held back the gate for me and I thanked him for his kindness.
‘Wow’, he said, ‘are they used for drugs?’
‘Not all mine’, I smiled.
‘I do wish the kids would put their rubbish in the bin after a session’, he offered, jogging on and giggling in his own amusement.
Cramming the crap in the bin through a postbox sized slit, Millie and I jaywalked across the road and headed for home with one eye on the brooding mass of darkness. Arching over us a rainbow gave us an upside down smile, or maybe it was God’s right way up smile as she looked down at us. She has a beautiful beam, gleaming with so much colour.
‘I receive your joy’, I said. ‘Thank you. It is very welcome before the next battering comes’.
‘Oh! and thank you for my healing; two lovely letters filled with kindness; a joyful paddle in the sunshine and a glorious smile knowing that your hedgerow is safe again for your little bugs, beasties, fury and feathery souls.
Now, Millie has nestled on her warm cushion and I ask my friend google, ‘find me a recipe for broccoli soup’.