I got up early and walked June round the edge of a black cloth being waved by a person who would never surrender. I watched her enter the open eye door and then came home with cheese graters as epaulettes; saluting the one man willing to guard an open wound in the not quite frozen ground. After feeding the wagon train animals, poppy and I retraced the cavalry’s steps with a picture in my mind of Morris dancers on a cliff edge. We came back to the not too warm house and I played the piano in my head before having to go out again - I am sure the morning got colder before it got warmer. I thought of the Raft of the Medusa as a universal metaphor and joked with a habitual joker about eating the table instead of the plates of food laid on it.