Slice up fruit. It has the familiarity of a lover on Saturday mornings.

Add the muesli that you made by hand, roasted, toasted, made the most of: oats, triticale, pepita, sunflower, sesame, coconut, almond and cinnamon (call it kaneli, Suomi style). You’d stirred in melted honey, oil and grapefruit juice before crunching it in the oven. And finally mixed in chopped up dried apple, pear, apricot and peach bought at the farmers market.

Now pour the milk, from foreign sounding Alexandrina Jersey cows.

Chew your breakfast and think about plane tickets you’ve already bought, waiting to be booked and used.

by .

I could, today, have turned catlike as I lay in the sun. One sip of tea, a turn of a page and then stretch, inch the blanket back into the light and away from the shade. Tending towards the feline, when around people I seek out the warmth of their company, but otherwise I’m happy to sit proud, alone.

Or maybe my love of the sun makes me more like a reptile, a skink, a snake? Or, as I’m not as cold-blooded as that, a she-bear who hid herself through winter, and is now warmer and shaking off the torpor.