Broken Sky

When I drove home tonight I caught glimpse of the broken sky and remembered why, for all those years, I felt so small in the darkness. All those books I read with pictures in the deepest blue paint could master. As I moved, the breaks in cloud bled ever so slowly- as if someone took a wet thumb and smudged the colours together. 

There's something about the night that makes the sky feel so huge; like the clouds are missing and you can see right out into the emptiness. And the stars, so many of them up there you wouldn't believe, hidden by London. Back at home, deep in the countryside, you couldn't count them if you tried. I will be forever grateful to grow up in a village sleeping under a bed of stars. 

Now I lay here, 6.33am in warm sheets with the curtains open, it's starting to get light out. Radio two has been on as background music for the last hour or so. Pete is in Naples for the weekend and I am have a luxuriously long time alone (and papa round for dinner tonight with oyster hunting in the morning). I've come to realise one of the sources for great happiness in my life comes in waiting. Waiting for holidays, for my food in the restaurant, for the programme we recorded the night before, for Australia and America and everything inbetween. 

Right now; I am thinking about getting bicycles for us to take Sunday rides (and training!), milky strawberry gelato, tanned shoulders, coral snorkelling, black dress evenings for L's birthday, warmer evenings to use the hot tub, today's Saturday morning shop, homemade bread and jam breakfasts, summer sandals, Frank Sinatra, Curry and Comedy night, CHRISTMAS product creation already (?!?), a slate and Aesop brown bathroom, new pictures for our bedroom in Santorini blue. 


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