On impulse, an unfamiliar word takes me from lap-top to office to consult the Collin's. It's an old usage, not one I trust to the Internet where spellings get casually Americanised. The much thumbed volume buzzes as I pick a point to crack it; I strike five pages past my word. A familiar book, a friend in my hands; present from a near forgotten aunt who had an eye, one anniversary, for what I needed, rather than what I wanted. I take the opportunity of the break to freshen tea, watching down the garden, smelling her carpet, warmed by a sun fifty years younger.
No comments:
Post a Comment