Waiting for the boy

16 January 2015


He’d had his computing exam this morning and chemistry this afternoon. I am looking out of the window for the boy coming home when the snow, big frothy clumps of it, begins to fall. Each passing car leaves black trails in the white, and each trail whitens as fresh snow covers the black. An ever-changing pattern in the failing evening light. A woman in a red coat crosses the road below. (Hand-held, and through uneven nineteenth century glass, it won’t be very sharp.) The boy turns the corner at the top of the drive and I light the gas under a pan of home-made chicken soup.

“Hi, dad…I’m hungry.”

“How was chemistry?”