Things come and things go.  Last week Spring was here, this week it left.  This morning, while walking across a field of cowslips, celandine and early hawthorn, I was smattered with snow that fell from a sky still struggling with the pull of winter.  

The chair left the mill a few months back and came back today on Nico's head; like me it lost and re-found it's place. 

Last week we cut the boiler.  This morning we rekindled the fire from last night's ashes, pulled my old pine table in front of it to eat then cleared the table for a game of Monopoly which I tire of easily but at the same time can't stop playing.  When we got definitively bored I put on a ballet masterclass for Lizzie and watched her as she took the back of the chair and moved through the sequences;  first, second, third, fourth fifth position, her muscle memory moving her arms into graceful arcs, her legs into dévolpées and shallow pliés and her happiness at still being able to do it.  

Some things seem to go but come back.

The boiler is back on.