I come across a pair of my father’s socks. How long have I had these? He’s been gone a decade and I think I’ve had them nearer 20 years. They’re darned (does anyone even do that any more?), presumably by my mother. Maybe I’ve worn them, but not in a long long time.
Still it’s hard to add them to my charity shop rag bag. I didn’t have the best relationship with my father. They are socks of no particular significance. I hadn’t even realised I had them. But still hard to let go.
Here I am again dwelling slightly in the past again. Leaning back in all my yoga postures; failing to seize the day.
They’re definitely leaving, once I’ve taken this photo, once I’ve written this post, maybe after some tea….