Paid To Listen

A job cancelled last minute leaves me in the luxurious position of having a day to myself, on full pay.  I could, as the client suggested, go shopping.  I won't.

This morning, a mild hour of tentative spring.  Shy sun, mallards squabbling, blossom dancing.  All rudely interrupted by the slicing knife of a bitter north wind, that leaves me with aching teeth and a chin so numb it feels like a foreign body.  The Narnian permawinter holds sway still, but there are signs that the daffodils have had enough and are about to mount a coup.  Go, the yellows.  You are the embodiment of optimism.

Back home to defrost my face with coffee.  The house is making small, busy noises.  Heating firing up.  Fridge humming.  Jostling of joists and slate.

I don't have to do anything.  Today I am paid to listen.