Good Grief 194

It took a while for my body to adjust when I arrived. The weight of things still hung heavily, both the news and the work saturation. I could do without burning out. As I walked, my body was still there but as I breathed and looked and listened, it began to adjust. I was reminded of Thomas de Quincey's account of being hurtled along at seven miles per hour!

When I got to the house I was rather shocked by the weeds. Dad would be appalled. Before I had even unlocked the door I had pulled up loads of them. When I was little it was my job to pull up at least a hundred before I was allowed to do anything. They had to be counted. This evening I counted as I pulled. As I went in I unleashed the smell of hermetic care home trapped in time catching webs as I walked through the empty rooms.
Quiet echoes and multiple layers of disorientation.
Sat now with a glass of wine and opening the post of the dead.