Day 33

I wake up from angry dreams with a sore throat as though I have shouted my way through the night. I have the Sunday blues and greys and it is hard not to waste the day with worries.

But in the end I don't. Sometime in the afternoon the sun breaks through like a bright yolk. And now just before bed, I look back at the treasures of my day: time with my sister over an egg and sausage and sticky-fingered crossiant brunch; a drive into the deep and dreamless sky to dinner with friends, the delight of dark wood chopsticks, delicate bowls of rice, 3 colourful dishes and then mung bean soup, comforting like a pat on the belly, the colour of the fields at first light.