April 27th- Chris has taken off from Sao Paulo by now and is coming home across that huge black ocean through the night. I see the planes pass overhead and still wonder. – the amazing mad trouncing of gravity, turned into a daily tedium of transatlantic commuting.
Rooks are nesting in the enormous trees at the end of our garden. Remembering the cacophony they made in the trees at Baslow, and the way they screeched and fought all summer over the hen food makes it hard to love them as birds. But this evening against the blue sky which still persists here, even with a northern chilly wind, I watched them wheel and soar in effortless fun and the miracle of their airborn antics made me wonder again. We can become prosaic about almost anything. But flight still astounds. My son, who started so small, now spans the world, forced to travel back and forth, back and forth. He has grown to hate it. I long for him to come home, and he will tomorrow, just for a short while.
In the greenhouse the beans are literally jumping out of their pots. Wonderful little beans, runners, borlotti, galaxy and safari. you can almost watch them grow. I have also planted a tray of soya beans, but none have yet germinated. I think I must bring them in to the kitchen, where squash and courgettes are currently enjoying the constant warmth from the Aga.
Our friends Trevor and Barbara Hicks came to lunch today. Trevor has just published his poems- we went to the book launch last Wednesday. They are mainly religious, but/and very good indeed. He is Canon Poet and writes a lot about mystery and Cornwall, memory and Mary. I wish I had written some of them, -high praise from me. He is gifted. Comes from Fowey, like my distant Cornish connections.-His poems made me homesick for a land where I shall never live.