• catherine@allaboutwriters


I feel her hand grab for mine, as it does with such consistency. She is a fierce hand-holder, this one, just can't walk alongside me without reaching out and taking hold. I push her schoolbag up on my shoulder and run my sunnies up my nose again. The grass on the oval is long and wavy, almost startling in its greenness. She stumbles as she steps onto the grass, another of her most consistent qualities, quickly regaining her balance and walking on.

The talk, too, rolls on and on and on. I tune in and out, like my brain is searching for the right frequency. I throw the occasional question into the conversation, just for good measure, and wonder as we walk along if my life will be too quiet as she and her siblings get older. I hope not. This talk is enchanting.

At some point, we get onto the topic of seeing a physio, as I tell of a friend with a neck problem. After a momentary pause, she asks, "What does that have to do with physio?". Continuing her train of thought, I learn she has a friend who has physio, though she'd not been sure why, and she'd always thought it was something to do with orange fizzy drink. She's not sure why its orange, but in her mind it is definitely orange, definitely fizzy.

There's a pause in the conversation as we both consider: fizzy on a minute...Fizzy-O!

Makes perfect sense to me!

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