There is a spider in my shower, a daddy long legs. He or she is welcome. If you are living, in the winter, in my shower, God bless you for eating what you can find.
There is a quick and tiny little thing living in my bathroom. The cat and I stare in fascination as it scoots across the bath mat. I wonder where it comes from and how it can survive.
There are four pairs of footwear in my living room. Tall black boots, scruffy black slip ons, warm fleece lined slippers, shiny pink mary-janes. Do they talk to each other, compare journeys or ask in earnestness why she doesn’t put us away? Or do they just sit there, lumps of material, abandoned as they lay?
Look there, look at the woman in the armchair trying to figure out where to start. Typing this rediscovered piece is one way to go.