Cold and Quiet

When I peeped around the Roman blind in my bedroom at seven thirty this morning to look outside, I first noticed the swathe of ice across every surface, but what grabbed me most was the quietness; no cars, no birdsong, no wind gusting across the open field and more noticeably, no banging doors from my immediate neighbours. They must be having a Sunday lie-in, thought I. The quiet was short-lived, as the neighbour's back door banged - as if on cue.

I have become used to their door-banging, but my Christmas visitors were not. What to do in these situations? I've already mentioned to my friendly neighbour, in passing, and lightly, with a smile, that their door banging did sometimes wake my visitors up, and was assured that they would try not to - bang, that is! But, somewhere along the path of daily life their assurances were forgotten. While I do not wish to fall out with my neighbours, especially over a trivial matter, I do wish they'd be a little more considerate when I have people staying. I know there's nothing wrong with their back door, as I've tested it out myself while cat-minding. I suppose some people just like to make sure the door bangs shut.

Elsewhere, outside the air is calm and still. It's on days like this I wish I could really paint well.