Dances with boxes

I am moving, box by box, up a narrow stair and round a tight corner, into my new home. Though my back be achy, my heart is singing. And Mrs. Peel likes the new digs.

When my muddy bootprints have been cleaned from the floor, and the kettle's on, and I can think in complete paragraphs, I'll have stories to tell, about cabbages and kings, and the kindness of strangers. And about light.