Rainy Sunday

I'm in bed writing - fiction for once, instead of thesis. It's rained all night, we were woken by thunder and lightning and the sound of glorious rain beating the roof and filling the watertanks. Martin is currently cutting a whole in the fence between us and next door and the kids are running back and forth, playing in the cubby, climbing a tree (I can watch them as I write dangling from its branches). Poor Una is asleep, she just can't keep up with those big kids.

Yesterday as we walked out onto the road to go to the market we met the neighbours across the road and walked together. They have a boy the same age as Fred (in 2009 they'll start school together) and another boy four years older. They invited us for dinner and we sat around the table and ate pizza and cake and drank wine and talked about gardening plans and swapped some of our histories while Una rediscovered the joy of lemonade and Frederique discovered sitting on a skateboard and scooting down a steep drive. We came home across the dirt road in the rainy dark and bundled the girls into bed. It's hard to believe we've only been here for two weeks. It's strange to remember what life was like before.

It's raining again. The kids are staying out in it, not afraid to get wet. Martin's still out there too. Good for them. But I'm glad it's not me. Now, back to the writing I guess.