I want to write. There is much change filtering through the waters of late January, and I find myself at odds with the urge to name, record, describe. The feeling is that if I narrow my focus I will miss something crucial on the periphery of my vision. Because of this, my urge to articulate … More humbled and human
Drippy Sunday morning; the world outside has shrunk …which appropriately rhymes with Funk, because Funk is precisely what I’m in. … niggly, prickly snappish me with a million essential things to attend to but instead I chop a fridge full of vegetables and chicken into tiny tiny pieces, beat up a dozen eggs, fry severed … More Inclusion
There is an ‘absence of me-ness’ in this morning. What a relief. Maybe thanks to A.A. Milne: “What day is it?”, asked Pooh. “It’s today”, squeaked Piglet. “My favourite day”, said Pooh. I’ve just cleared off and wiped the table where I sit, so the soft light coming through the south windows in front of … More Friday morning
Heavy frost, on the penultimate day of March. Hard, biting ice covers the new hyacinths, the swollen buds on rowan and cherry, the green green grass. We’ve worried about this, and more, for thirty days. This month came to us sweet and warm out of February, as though we had permission to leap over mucky … More Ceasar, and The Fringe #1.