We row out in
a small boat. I have stopped biting my lip ( since we passed the place where my father died ) and allow myself to relax and look around. The sea is calm and the sun is warm on my bare arms.
He rows, with ease, through the shallow water and knows where to avoid hidden rocks. We pass terns, swans and ducks, as well as small cottages on overgrown islets. We see
no people. When we reach the right cottage I set my laptop on the patio table and get to work, while he climbs into the excavator and starts digging up rocks.
Later, we make lunch together. When the excavator breaks down and I'm tired of working, we lie down on the patio to sunbathe and do a crossword. I'm good with crosswords but he is better. We google
Swedish poets and try to fix the excavator ( my part is to push a lever ). We walk barefoot around the islet. He is tanned, I am pale, he tells me I'm beautiful.
When the sun sinks lower and the air gets chilly, we return home. I get
mud between my toes when I step out of the boat.
The year's at the spring ... and all's right with the world.
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