Sea Mists

Me: There’s something awfully romantic about a sea mist.

Nell: Here we go.

Me: The way it moves across the sky mysteriously covering everything in its cloak.

Nell: Good grief.

Me: Then just as quickly the cloak is lifted and everything reappears. Magical.

Nell: Actually it’s a bit damp, if you ask me, and spoils the view.

Me: It didn’t spoil our walk though, did it? We couldn’t get Harriet out of the sea.

Nell: Harriet adores the water.

Me: She might be a Merdog.

Nell: There’s no such thing.

Me: You don’t know. There could be.

Nell: Autumn does this to you.

Me: What?

Nell: It takes you away on flights of fancy.

Me: ‘Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness’.

Nell: And you start quoting John Keats.

Me: He’s one of my favourite poets.

Nell: I thought I was your favourite poet.

Me: You are. Don’t forget Jonathan will be 5 on 19th September. He’ll be expecting a poem.

Nell: And he will get one.

Me: Autumn used to be my mother’s favourite time of the year. Her birthday was in September.

Nell: I know.

Me: She loved the colours of the leaves.

Nell: Yes.

Me: And she loved the sound they made when you walked through them.

Nell: She did.

Me: I have so many happy memories of autumn walks with her.

Nell: Nobody can take those away from you.

Me: No.

Nell: But now it is time to make new memories.

Me: You’re right.

Nell: Which is why I’ve enrolled you and Kev in the new dance school.

Me: The one run by Juanita and the Portuguese Podenco?

Nell: Somebody has to keep an eye on them.

Me: I’m too old to dance, Nell.

Nell: Nobody is ever too old for a little magic.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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