May to November

I have very little grasp on what day it is of late, but what I do know is that, three days ago, six months to the day, I sat in my seat at that same table and the three other seats which had then been occupied were now empty.

I am on my own now.

A choking laugh escapes my mouth as I realise I always was.

To survey the scene one can see that there is not half so much to do now as there was then and I am older and wiser and stronger, paradoxically; easily capable of doing it all.

But there are those six tiny, speedily hoofed, almost infintesimal and invisible months bewteen what was and what is.

And they make all the difference in the world.

Cold this six months after day. No sun, like on that day. No champagne for all and shared feeling of optimism and hope.

No matter.

I shall turn on the heating.

I shall drink champagne, when there is something to celebrate.