Am I home, now?
I'm back in London, in the area where I was born and raised, so does that mean that now I'm 'home'? Also, a big week in motherhood.
As I write, I’m sat at a desk in a loft space, looking out at London brick houses with terracotta chimney pots, framed by a cluster of treetops, in the distance.
There is sky, too. It’s bright white with heavy indigo clouds that can’t decide whether they’ll turn grey or not.
This is my son’s favourite weather. In the middle, he calls it. It’s neither hot nor cold; wet nor dry; windy nor still.
I have realised, these past few days, that I, too, am in the middle.
In the middle of several headfucks, actually.
