Paul (Nico), Netta, Graham and I with 2 bottles of wine, and no fire, talked the evening through sitting on the verandah easily. The scorpion story and stories of here in the wod,k when Nico became the woodwose for the visiting children, and later when one spotted him in the co-op and shouted out: Its the woodwose! Shhhhh, he said, don’t let on. Mostly stories of our geographies, may be inspired by Graham, the youngest among us, who was still uncertain where he would settle, perhaps in Wales? While the rest of us knew that while we no longer had that choice, there was also a contentment at being where we were. We reflected on our covid days, and inspired by this easy talk exchange, I read some of my Covid poem. Read it all, said Netta. It was on a Heritage Tree walk that Judith reminded us that Darwins use of the word FIT was not necessarily how we interpreted. Survival of the fittest. The word did not mean strongest, but those who fit together. Fit-est. We drank a toast to “Survival of the FITTING”. Community, we concluded, c-operation.
3 dogs on the bed. Brow escaped as I prepared his gift of chicien. Raced for the car, GPS tracking. Kobo jumped out of the car window into the dark road. I felling increasingly unworthy of owning dogs.
