Now closed in, our camaraderie didn’t last. It was all fun at first. A chance to bond. Some board games and conversation. Cozy inside, while outside, the sky wept tears of tumult. Then it deteriorated.  It turned grey, like the rain outside, a shower of grizzles and moans.

The afternoon dragged like a drawn out discord of dissent.

“Da-a-ad, I’m bored. There’s nothing to doooo.”

“There’s heaps to do. You have a room full of toys.”

I pace the house. A captive tiger, in search of escape, but there is no way out.

“Go and do something. Don’t just mope about the house.” said my understanding partner.

I claw at the opportunity to jot down some thoughts and find myself lost in the forest of subjectivity. My creativity, an open wound. Invention, its soothing balm. The page lays itself bare. White. A virgin. It seduces words that blemish its purity. I resist and try to find an excuse.

‘I can go and play with the kid!’

The spell is broken. The white page besmirched. A brief play painted. The afternoon is now a  snapshot.