There and back again.

The city was bright and pretty and busy with old friends and shows and nine for breakfast at three in the afternoon and meetings and the greetings of the kitten-demon, pawsteps measured and steady.

The mountains were wreathed in white for our darling with sun the next day and all the rellies and two circles of friends awkward but goodwilled and smooth with food and drink and the perfectly cool afternoon air.

The sun sets over the west, you know, on expensive run down verandahs and the chatter like a dream and there's all that suffocating joy at the fact of my mother and sisters being so vibrant and alive and in my physical presence at last, with the promise of more at christmas.