The load of washing I put on last night remains in the machine. Today’s downpours uninspire domesticity. My daughter’s school shirt and a pair of socks were missed, remaining huddled on her bedroom floor, marking the spot where she changed into something less sweaty from primary school playground and sports afternoon. The end-of-week memorial service for her friend’s mother took place between showers. Lung cancer. They planted a rainforest tree tipped in new pink growth and poured her ashes into the sand. The tree will appreciate today, but I’ve gone on housework strike early. Still breathing. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.