Outside, grey blankets overhead act as a net, but one without holes, preventing the rain from falling any longer. A tree that stands crooked outside the window, groans. A glistening cobweb, decorated with caught raindrops, and the busy red-striped, black spider, with legs spindlier than knitting needles, plucks at the reforming of broken strings. Trees shadowing the window mirror upside down in the puddles. The residual drip drops of lingering catchment hit the puddles, causing them to ripple in circular waves. My old ticker clocks into rapid action at the erupting noise from my phone on the coffee table beside my old, tangerine armchair. Walking as urgent as I can with a bad hip, I answer the incoming call. “Hello.”
“Hello, is this Mr. Forrester?” a male voice asks.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Doctor Nobi up at Taupo Hospital.”
“Ah, right. Is everything alright with Daisy?” I ask.
“Yes, yes, your wife’s episode was only minor. In fact, you can pick her up this afternoon, around three.”
I drop to my knees. My heart explodes as a wave of relief and happiness fills me. Tears roll down my cheek.
My wife, my Daisy is coming home.
Nikki Lockwood
The scribes of a NZ Author
Nikki Lockwood 