Mme. L., and Mlle. F. are not home, not in a sinister or sad way, more over an empowering 3 generation, 5 women of the same family all away a together at the beach. So I am at home, in an awkwardly empty house, eating tangelos, listening to my favourite mopeymusic, listlessly scrolling up and down a shared cloud album of Mlle. F. Aaaah, ennui.
I’ve happened across a photo that Mme. L. took… I am sitting on the lawn, legs in front of me crossed in that long and relaxed fashion. I’m leaning back on my ‘good’ arm and casually pawing at Mlle. F. in her baby swing with the my other. It’s a bright, high sun, spring day, the lawn is verdant green, the shadows straight up and down, and you can hear the quiet hum of a hot day and the Tui fussing in the neighbours Magnolia in the photo.
Mlle. F. has a lovely and too large sunhat listing on her head that I bought in a post cycling icecream stop, it’s blue and has butterflies printed on it. She’s drooling into her chest, a beige and stretch and grow with a teal screen printed map of the world on it. She’s hunched ever so slightly to her left, one knee drawn to her chest, and she’s watching me intently, as I coo reassuring and positive “whoooooooos” at her swinging.
This scene, in our back yard, new vegetable plots a promising brown in the background.. this scene. It is enough. It puts into perspective all endeavours and folly to date: I pushed my daughter in a swing.