A day made up of little things. There was Pilates in the study ( some new stretches that had me actually dripping - a single bead of sweat ran disconcertingly down my cheek), followed by coffee in the garden and my customary FaceTime catchup with my pal. I put a sourdough loaf in the oven and had time to do some Italian practice until it was ready.
Later, I went down to the front to walk along looking at the high tide. Mr PB had been gardening all morning and didn't come at that point; it was the first time since lockdown that I'd walked on my own. (This solitude didn't last - I met a total of 4 people I know and chatted to them all, at a distance). The sea was the most beautiful colour - the colour captured by my artist friend in the painting that formed the cover of my book - and seemed absolutely clear. And there were turnstones on the rocks - joyous to see them. I'm blipping just one of the photos I took in a relatively short time, with the rocks making patterns of darkness in the green.
After that it was home to unpack the fish order before going up the back to the church with Mr PB. The mature trees in the church grounds are all out now, and were a great cave of pale green through which we climbed the hill. I can't resist an extra of trees, yet again ...
And a last, good thing: we always listen to music over dinner. Sometimes it's on the radio, if the concert on R3 is to our liking; often it's a CD. But for the past couple of days we've been listening to an LP of King's College Cambridge Choir singing the Psalms. The record dates from 1969, and was one of the first we shared in our marriage; now, 50 years on, it's still a joy - the sheer perfection of form, language and music, the wonderful singing, the absolute rightness of it. I wasn't brought up an Anglican, but because I've been drawn to the music for so many years from listening to records like this one, I feel it's part of me.
Ripples in the fabric of my life, in the fabric of experience. A good day.