Sickle moon at day's end
This evening I walked to the bottle shop to buy a nice crisp white wine to go with the chicken casserole that I'd left cooking in the oven. There was a lovely, faint crescent moon hanging low in the evening sky, about a hand span above the orange glow over the horizon, last vestiges of the sunset.
It was a lovely evening, with only a hint of crispness at the tail end of a singlet and jeans kind of day to remind me that it was actually late autumn. It was a good way to finish a good day of writing. Not necessarily a day of good writing – there will be time enough to be critical of the writing later – but a good afternoon's worth of writing nonetheless. Considering I hadn't ventured out past the drive way all day, it was great to get out for a breather.
I returned with a nice (for the budget) sauvignon blanc to go with the chicken casserole I was cooking to help christen the new enamelled cast iron casserole we'd bought from Ikea last weekend. Not fancy expensive French cookware, but serviceable and at a price I could live with. (By the way, I'd portioned and skinned a whole free-range chicken myself. Don't get to do it often, but it turned out well.)
Shelley was putting the kids to bed as I pottered around the kitchen and washed the dishes, and Tripple R played some rather unusual music that I wouldn't normally get to listen to. We were waiting to have our dinner after the kids were asleep so that we could have some adult time together – something we've had precious little of this past week.
What a great day of my favourite things: the morning spent with the kids, writing (and time for it with the kids out of the house, thanks to Shelley), cooking a lovely meal, a nice evening walk, and a glass of wine with a delicious meal and conversation with the best company in the whole wide world – my partner. Bliss.