I re-hung some of the white washing, to take advantage of the bright and the breezy, cleared some of the invasive weeds from the surface of the new half barrel (hoping to see a pair of shy fish) and then settled to watch the slow metamorphosis of the tadpoles in the temporary pond.
The sun warmed me between swift clouds. I wrapped by knees in elbows, not as comfortably as they used to, and watched both the wriggling black shapes and the reflections of sky and house.
The breeze brought occasional apple petals to rest on the water surface, a few sticking to my jumper, one tickling my neck.
Ripples of memory washed my eyes and tracked like the original salty sea to rekindle older memories in my mouth. Origins and evolution, growth, metamorphosis and death. All held there wrapped in arms by a pool.
