“Happy Birthday” said the Sage, as I strolled, rather late, into the kitchen this morning. I apologised. Another year older; I’m not the woman he married any longer. “No, no,” he assured me, handing me flowers, “You get younger every day, it’s me who’s getting older.” I decided that we’re both young and lovely (I didn’t mention the failing eyesight.
Still, it’s a sunny day. I think I’ll go out and frolic for a while.