Quit Not

Mr, Boy and me have been building a shed. This project started October 1st 2012, when we turned up in the car park of a supermarket that was refitting its trolley bays. Mr had a vision, permission to remove the decommissioned bays and a hired van. It was excellent and perilous fun (like giant Meccano that can fall on you and squish your bones.) We took three of the old bays, I think, with some minor flesh wounds. Last summer Project Polytunnel commenced (going well, although more space is used storing the future shed flooring than for growing.) This year, Project Shed is under way. The satisfaction layers up: that we saw potential, that we worked hard, that we took a risk, that people who thought we were bizarre may still think that but they also have visible shed envy, that here is a space we made coming to fruition. Not until the light is fading and the last of the outer paneling fixed is the daily writing routine approached. I almost can't be bothered to find a random word, all I want to do is sing songs of The Legendary Project Shed. As though the dictionary feels slighted, the word is quit.

'Pah!' I said; closing the dear old book, putting it back on the table with a friendly pat. 'When the shed is finished I shall have to take you up there.'

The more you make things, it seems, the more life you sense, even in these inanimate pieces. It blooms, it roots; it beats and flows. It quits not.