I’m writing to me, well you, us. To inform you that time is happening. It happened for a year, it happened yesterday and it’s happening again today. Very slowly and then all at once and you don’t really notice it creep by until it’s been and done and shown its colours.
I…you arrived home yesterday. All the trees are taller, as are the children. On my arrival the tallest taller small one gave me a rose. The smallest taller small one booted me in the shin.
Home is different every time I visit but it’s always home, my red bricked house on the summer estate. My adults though they seem to be shrinking and painting things strange shades of mauve. They keep mentioning something about moving but I inform them that’s a terrible idea and then everyone has a cup of tea.
we ponder, if time is happening then surely age is too. I decide to inspect this in the bathroom mirror. I suspect I’m probably correct, lines have grown out the sides of my eyes making me look a bit like a lizard and my grandmother..I presume having never of met her/them. It’s quite a big presumption but I imagine they’d look like me or rather the other way around. I’m not usually this coherent this close to lunch time but for once the dogs wagging the tail, as they say? They do say that?
Anyway the trains about to arrive and you know how terribly anxious me is when it comes to finding a seat so we should leave it at that. We should write again soon.