Staring Out Of The Window, When The Phone Rings

This place is packed with distractions.

Like this ice edged purple sprout.

It is November, the latter part.
On this planet.
What of other planets?
I mis-type November, but only once, as Novelber.
Today is not for writing but for dragging rows of numbers around, making accounts.
The first frosts have visited; two mornings in a row, now comes rain, falling thickly, hypnotic.
Thoughts wander in this weather they go anywhere. (Always blame the weather.)
Numbers add up to a headache.
Still some apples hold on branches: last all winter through, sometimes, some types. They are best to see frosted: fruit and ice growing: crunchy, sweet, fantastic!
I’m supposed to be - but the phone keeps interrupting - nearly gets turned off -
It rings. A finger hovers to stamp out the noise: why is that number ringing?
Because it’s Wednesday. Not Tuesday.
Wednesday!!
If you know film terms, this is the dolly track zoom moment.
If not, the word ‘lurch’ will help.
I am supposed to be picking up Little Granddaughter from her nursery…
I apologise on the phone and in person. The child of course is blithe: the staff just giggle.
Ponderation centres, staring later from the car window, on how easy it is to drop out of time, on how disconcerting to return, how once in 1970 I was left at the Post Office, parked in an old hooded perambulator, and how I had lost count of the times I had been almost home and circled back to collect my own poor brood. But the first incident was most likely in the late 1990s. It was raining then too, I am sure of it.
Hypnotic.