#87.5

John is back inside, clean and powdered and in a foul mood. Even the prospect of picking up his electric wheelchair tomorrow doesn't seem to cheer him up. In an effort to escape his thunderous face I turned the green armchair to the window and sat staring out at the silver birch. I watched as the last stray birds of the evening came in and as the nocturnal insects started crawling out of holes or from under leaves. A little five-spotted ladybird curled around a leaf on the tomato plant then disappeared into the shade. Mr Bartholemew passed by with his dog. He looked like he had the world figured, like peace was in his very stride. If I wasn't me it would be a glorious evening, but on this tranquil night, it feels like my life is falling apart. Verity says that all will be fine, that things will eventually get better. But as I watched the sun go down I started to cry and knew that things would never be ok again.