Wilf is off the new medicine and back onto Prednisone. Relief all round. He turned in at eight last night and slept solidly until six this morning. No bi-hourly garden visits. 'The font' has headed back to London for a couple of days to look after 'Granny Font' so the decorating of the Christmas tree can proceed without constant interruption. Pizza for lunch and a chicken stew , 'all you have to do is turn on the oven', for dinner. Wilf can hardly wait.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
A fresh, brisk morning. Out of the front door with Wilf to find the sky crisscrossed with contrails. For some reason the major air routes from north to south redirected over our little village. Barcelona, Johanessburg, Lagos, Marakkesh in one direction. Paris, London, Berlin in the other. Distant destinations etched out in the arctic cold sky above . Scores and scores of celestial St.Andrews Crosses stretching to the horizon, hanging undissolved in the still air. Strangely beautiful . A modern version of Constantines vision at the Milvian Bridge.