Remains of this little day.

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The night air is warm and still, hardly any movement in it at all. The forest outside is silent and seems to have given up its usual moaning, and there have been no fox fights. Billowy clouds have moved in from the west and are lit up by the moon whose pale influence also falls through my bedroom window, illuminating me. I cannot sleep. My mind wanders over the events of the past day, this morning’s funeral. Robbie had lain for three days in his coffin in the front parlour of his small house, a constant run of friends, family and ghoulish nosey parkers parading by and wishing him well, a gaggle of great grandchildren being lifted up so that they could kiss his pale, cold face. What I focused on was that he was wearing his reading glasses. With all the kissing they were sitting crooked on his face, and one of his daughters straightened them just before the funeral service got under way. This induced giggling in me. At one funeral I was at recently, not only was Nora wearing her reading glasses, but she was propped up in her coffin with a Bible in her hands and she was reading Psalm 23. My mind is also distracted by the news that I now have accumulated 210,000 frequent flyer miles for use on British Airways. The problem is that there seems to be destination to which I wish to fly, not anywhere that British Airways flies to anyway. And the thought of a long flight I find rather disheartening: the vulgar airport experience, having to use an airplane toilet, being locked inside a metal tube with so many germ-ridden fellow passengers - it’s all too much. Oh to fade away and quite forget.