The TV has been switched off, the devices are blank and silent, the lights are dimming, rain casually beats against the window and the central heating is nearing the end of it's evening work program. The adults are fussing about, running the clock down, time to retire, tidy up errant cups and glasses, close cupboards and wipe down surfaces, leave things tidy and we're good to go. Ignore the rest. It's the closing sequence of the day, transactions bound up and finished, shake the curtains and redraw that line between day dreams and night moves, wakefulness and sleep. Today dwindles and the unknown future that in the elasticity and stupid predictability of time now looms, will deliver the new tomorrow's promise; tomorrow or thereabouts. We take all this for granted, the every day tapestry that slowly unravels before our blinking eyes never to return. The cat sees it all however and, as you might expect, refuses to comment from that warm spot he's carved out for himself on the couch.
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