We collected five on our way home from the hospital today.
Five!
Not two or three or four, (which would still be good) but five.
In February of all months, or Kale-monath in Old English, named after a cabbage, I have gleefully learnt.
A perfectly sensible name for this month, at least it is if you happen to live in England.

Five; all now safely stowed away in my coat pocket.
Snatched almost rudely, as if in short supply then shoved deep inside lest they be stolen away.
Now stashed amongst scrunched up tissues and the remnants of an autumn leaf I have not had the heart to throw away, both constant reminders of the season we’re in.
A pocketful of things I would not be without, when I am with her.
Free stuff.

Five in one walk is a record for us.
Our faces lowered as we battle the elements of a dark, bitter afternoon; February revels in its cruciferous status.
She laughs as her wheelchair jolts and bounces over once subterranean but now emerging tree roots.
I do not laugh; today I am weary of visiting hospitals and sitting through endless appointments, either in clinics or at home for this won’t take long and they’ll be as quick as they can.
I am cold and wet and her wheelchair is heavy and these roots are monstrous and, and…oh hello there…thank you, yes you too.

Our pockets are filled.
Hers with the joy of the journey home, the wind and the rain are her elements, mine bursting with the lightest of finds.
Five genuine smiles given to her by five strangers, as they hurried by on this dreariest of winter days, handing out free stuff worth ten times its weight in gold.
Five of the kindest, ordinary faces giving a moment to honour her, not to pity her (we don’t collect those), recognising then marvelling at the treasure she always carries.
And reminding me, all over again, of the utter privilege that is every day caring for her.

“A twinkle in the eye means joy in the heart, and good news makes you feel as fit as a fiddle….“

Proverbs 15 verse 30, The Message