Midlife Battle

My nails made little moons in my palms. Middle-aged women might have froth and bubble on their upper layers but underneath, we were tidal waves.

Death is coming for me, of that there is no doubt. My hair greys quicker than before, as if she already has a grip. Life with Ezra and our daughter is joyful, but the city is strange. Footsteps trail in the snow where no man has walked. An unexpected migration of birds clouds the London sky. The book buried in the grove of the cottage whispers to m...