Pink Milk and Sugar Stars

There is a new member of the household, a small delicate 8 week old ball of fluff. A sleepy baby called Pixie, who fits snugly into the palm of my hand. With tiny pink paws and a twitching nose. She nibbles on her first ever strawberry drop whilst taking in her new surroundings. She is enthralled that she has a silver food bowl filled to the brim all for her tiny self. She has yet to learn to make herself a nest from the pale yellow cotton woollyness. For now she sleeps on top of it, curled up and dreaming of faraway adventures. My mother fusses over her, she is not allergic to hamsters like she is to Jake the rabbit. Poor Jake.



Jake is hopping around in the garden, putting on acrobatic displays. He is a performer, he loves to be watched. I listen to the wind chimes as they tinkle in the breeze. Sitting in the grass holding a warming cup of tea in my hands, I daydream.



I wish we had our swing again, I used to sit outside for hours pondering, imagining, sorting out problems that I may have and working out what I want to achieve in this lifetime. I would even sit out in the rain at times, the big drops splashing down on my face, hiding any tears I had shed. I loved it best in the autumn when there would be a distinct chill in the air, frost forming on leaves, the tendrils of the pumkins growing at the bottom of the garden creeping across the lawn. I would read to myself, or draw whilst gently rocking back and forth on that beloved swing. My father had had to replace the seat several times when the wood would rot and toadstools grew on the edges. Eventually he took it down.



The summer always brings the butterflies and the bees to our garden. I would sit out there all day, if it were not for the fact that I have to drag myself to work. Mum is making vanilla cookie ice cream. She has promised me that she will make strawberry ice cream, using strawberries from the garden. The cat pads over to inspect the blade of grass I hold between my fingers, and then the empty tea cup beside me. He is not really partial to the dregs of tea at the bottom of the cup. He opts for playing with the blade of grass instead. The dog comes running over in her jealousy. She does not like it when the cat gets any attention from me. Tess drops her ball and demands that I throw it for her. I oblige.



Now I have to go to work. I have decided I may have a tea party tonight. With vanilla cookie ice cream.