Time is consuming me, or I am consuming time; I’m not sure which. What I do know is that it’s almost May and I find myself wondering how we got here.
The daffodils I was salivating over just a few weeks ago have not only burst into flower, but have wilted and died without me even seeming to notice. Delicate bluebells, so dainty and fragile take their place, washing the woodlands with colour and fragrance.
It has been quiet since we got back from the beach. I’m spinning in silence, gravitating towards a vast abyss of solitude. I have withdrawn from life lately and I just can’t seem to find any solace in company at the moment. I am distracted, lost in my own thoughts and losing sleep like loose change. I wake feeling more exhausted than I was when my head hit the pillow.
The cockerel crows earlier each day, waking us at 5.30 as the sun begins its ascent. The days are long and the skies are clear. A single condensation trail from a plane is the only blemish I can see.
The boys have been learning. The quiet days have left plenty of time for reading and writing and their grasp of phonics is growing by the day. Their spelling game still holds their attention and they laugh as they play together. I listen to them reading, their stuttering as they sound out the words, realising it doesn’t make sense and trying again. It is stilted and awkward but it is music to my ears.
We are getting out in the Peak District at the end of this week. I need the fresh air. As much as I’ve enjoyed these quiet days, the air is stale and I need to escape.
I’m counting down to Friday.