The 4 o'clock dark that looked so depressing from my work window takes me by surprise as I exit the glassy building. Surprise because it brings me suddenly alive. Fake January summer has been replaced by something new, something wonderful. The nippy nip draws me from my baby brain and I am a sparkler. Taking the sidewalk in big strides, last remaining xmas lights shine on me like tiny suns and I feel like my self for the first time since this new journey began. And I smile deep in my core, so deep. My coat is one size too big and vintage-y and looks like a sofa. Blue and blown. It swings at my knees. I am carrying home Jake's art bag with the pages of the comic book Jeff is writing and Jake is drawing, safely inside. The art bag is flung across my chest and I feel like a right little art school girl. A right little art school girl.

The cold is wet and spit spaty, like London was when we were there. I whisper to my passenger, "this is what the weather was like the day you were made." And I remember walking along the banks of the Thames in the cold wet. The Thames must love bridges. She has so many. That was the first day that I wrote: "I am the captain of a great ship. I am ice and clouds." Did I know somewhere deep inside that that day was special? Was it my passenger making it's plans for me? Was I the captain of a great ship before I got pregnant or did I become one that day? I am a question girl. So full. Of questions. A right little question girl.