Wednesday, January 09, 2013
The lights were on downstairs when I got back, wet with perspiration wrenched from me by the oppressive humidity. I could see the welcoming warmth of the home through the branches; there's no wall or fence separating the house from the street. And blonde Sasha came to the door, tail wagging, soft fur snout smiling.
The home, unusually empty and almost quiet, put arms around me. A sharp old fashioned click and the ancient blaring in the background hi-fi was off; silence, instantly, thank God.
Now, on the bed, I'm reading - in the warm light of my minimalist room - Dorothea Brande.