I reached 65 this year. At the height of the summer I didn’t give it a thought.

But now it’s autumn, a still autumn day. I feel a pause in my life.

Maureen is making blackberry and apple jam. She asked me to help her pick blackberries yesterday.

And yesterday, working our way along a hedge, she said: ” I’m very happy. I like you. It’s good to be with someone you like.”

I felt a little start, a tremor. I like her too. How lucky I am.

We were quiet for a while, working on opposite sides of the same hedge. Then we met at the gate.

“What’s up?”, she said.

I said I was thinking of stopping my journal.

“Don’t,” she said, “there’s a certain tranquility about it, like this countryside.”

“I picture people out there sniggering sometimes. I am saying things I should be ashamed of or embarrassed to admit…”

“So what? Michel de Montaigne wasn’t afraid to talk about his, let’s say, unimpressive attributes,” she said. “Whoops, I didn’t mean….”

We both laughed.

I am so happy. It’s such a long time since I shared my life with someone.