I was getting another of his headaches.
There I was, preparing for a good-enough day,
when it made its quiet appearance,
showing itself only in a forced smile
as he walked back into the house after checking the tyres.
But I didn’t get it at first, dumb me.
It was only the averted eyes and the soundless sigh
as he picked up the picnic basket
and then as I marshalled the kids
that told the whole story.
But true to form, when I asked him,
‘It’s nothing,’ he said,
making sure that it would be,
for the rest of the long day,
something indeed.