change of seasons

The skies are growing dark early these days: at a quarter to five, it's dusk. Winter seems to be shoving autumn aside, anxious to get on with the business of cold.

Thomas is, of course, undaunted. He will kick his football up and down the garden until it is quite dark, or I insist that he come inside. Anna and Iain, on the other hand, have absolutely no interest in getting out in the cold, and grudgingly find ways to amuse themselves when I firmly deny their requests for television. Because they both enjoy all sorts of pretend play, they have a great time together, and keep each other occupied.

And so I find myself, in odd moments, free. Now I have no excuse not to wash up the breakfast things and cook a proper meal for supper...