It feels like winter this morning. On the garden wall, my shadow was fringed and blued by the low winter sun, the yellow light edging slowly into orange. But along the river the willows are still green with leaves.
I was tidying up the day before yesterday (three month inspection) and I found a huge heap of odd socks at the foot of (and partially under) Damian's futon. The socks were clean, but had become a nursery for moths, and were covered with their little cocoons. I hoovered the salvagable and chucked out the rest, but it hasn't lasted. I took some of his clean washing in this morning, and there was the same little sock heap at the foot of his bed. Damian's approach to tidying is very orderly; things need to be classified, put into heaps, and then found homes. He's a software programmer, with a good head for neatness, but the socks, unclassifiable but not obviously rubbish, flummox his orderly mind. He's also easily distracted, and so his room is full of classified heaps, waiting for a home. I make heaps too, but mine are prettier, being arranged according to aesthetic effect rather than type.
Damian hates it when I tidy his room. I imagine he'll hate it even more now.