When I opened the door to the garden shed this afternoon the first sound I heard was the chaotic and tangled fluttering of desperate wings and then I saw the robin fly up into the old clay pots on the top of a rickety shelf to take refuge. I considered leaving. Imagined how my looming shadow must have caused its tiny heart to pitter patter like crazy, evoked a kaleidoscope of emotion to confuse and in turn possibly endanger itself. But I stayed. Crossed over to the shelf. Waved my hand in a gentle motion as if to weave light and the robin flew out. I decided to ignore superstition - that death was nigh - once a bird of flight enters a place - the old wives' tale that can strangle and restrict this small island.
Later on in the day I saw the robin again. This time it was perched on a fence post basking in the first real warmth of the season. Wise bird. I was making Bechamel Sauce and I watched it from the kitchen, feeling slightly envious. Wanting myself to down the wooden spoon and find a niche in the garden to settle into, to allow the sun to infiltrate my cold and stiff Winter bones.
The lasagne was provoked by a glut. Courgettes and aubergines accumulated in the fridge. I needed justification. Fresh tomatoes on the verge of demise called out for roasting and gnarly garlic cloves needed sweetening and sweating.
The smell of roasting tomatoes is heavenly. It reminds me of Summer. Salt from the sea. The way the ocean can sting your skin in a nice way. Laughter. Nonsense. Good nonsense. Innocence too and a saxophone at midnight. Oh and bells tinkling in a random fashion from the branches of trees and a squinting of blue eyes in eagerness to see something fleeting. Something that will never be seen again.
Bechamel sauce is such a process. It requires attention. Curdling has to be avoided and melting butter makes the most lucious of sounds - like gifts being unwrapped willy nilly or the meticulous measure of days even though you are not aware of them. The new days to unravel. I watch them unfurl without any pattern like a robin's song, unexpected as that, they come to me. And they fall into place, each one falls easily. Here and beyond. For all of us.