I’ve done this and that, dynamiced (that word is begging for a K but I’m not playing) with others at Lunch Club, lifting and laughing and washing up. Home again and a walk and a talk with the trees, the Horse Chestnut yellowing into gold, the others, bless them and in a stand where the last wind whipped and stripped, kind of brown. Then a think about a prayer for Sunday based on, based on. Always open, always curious, always challenging. Today was a surprise here. There was a threatening, a washout. It never came. In fact the risal tide is almost full moonish. I hear the irritable squawk of herons, love the standing beneath trees where long-tail tits skitter and land and don’t give a hoot about me down here doing the watching thing. They are one on a feeding mission, a mission. Survival all important. It thinks me, as they don’t.

There’s always one we think about. Not always the same one, but there is always one. Could be a lover, a child in trouble, could be a parent lost in some hideous disease, could be a bully, a kindly friend, a someone who just recognises you and offers a smile. Always one.

Could be a beloved facing. Facing unknown. You’re there, arent’ you? Clueless, hopeful. wondering, anxious, nightmaring, reconstructing yourself every morning. Because you will.