We only part to meet again

The artist has still sold all her work. I am still going to the war zone. Tomorrow. Fresh razors are bought. First Aid is checked. The artist is delighted with her news but sleepy. My passport is felt. Shirts are selected. Money, currency, is sorted; kit inspected. Lenses. Tapes. Leads. Microphones. The artist is smiling but dozing. Flight times are double-checked. The latest news is viewed. The eight-year-old girl is, especially, hugged before going to sleep. The five-year-old boy is, especially, hugged before going to sleep. The artist cannot believe her good fortune. Bags are readied. Shoes are polished. Lists are crossed out, rewritten. The artist has almost fallen asleep on the sofa. Emails are sent. Arrival times verified. The artist wants to do a large piece after some time off. Expense claims must be sorted. Toothpaste. Aide memoire. Cash. The artist must be coached about her emails. The artist is an artist. I am the artist's husband.