The Seventh Day…

The Seventh Day, the seventh anything really, is rather magical, like the seventh wave which introduces one to something mythical, or the seventh door being an opening to the fey.

Today is the seventh day of my new life – that’s what I tell myself anyway…

It’s no secret that last year was a tough year full of all the things we don’t want. Deaths, grief, ill health, change. But out of that one manages to emerge at the other end.


I made a promise with myself that when we finally settled at House for the duration (a couple of months later than planned), that not only would the muse and I work together each day on Guillaume, but that I would see Day One as the first day of my new life.

Each day is a glorious and much desired repetition of the day before.


Day One…


Day Two and so on…


And today is Day Seven. Even more spectacular for me than yesterday.


Cubbies built by little boys make one realise that life is truly for enjoying.



Even dogs take no notice of signs.

Today I caught the tide between ebb and flow and was able to swim quietly, not pushing against a current for once. Just relaxing. Diving beneath the water and listening to the sound of the sea – a true challenge with my ears and balance plus a certain amount of anxiety that I might have vertigo under water. I didn’t of course and it was stunning – white sand, shells, water above and below and the sun striking down through the water in bars of silver.





The exhaustion that shadows me every day as my brain opens up to a new way of handling my balance doesn’t worry me.


When I returned from the beach, I just lay in the garden under the trees listening to the shiver of leaves in the seabreeze and the shrill cry of parrots in the fruit trees. Salt from the ocean dried in crusty layers on my skin.


In the veggie garden, the sunflowers radiated a happy glow, enticing the bees and making me even more content.


Yes … the seventh day is a good day and the eighth makes promises it will keep.