Day 74
prose fails prose fails when clouds mountains missiles paper front pages ice snow ruins remote miles politics lies massacres borders closed to colour birth not birth birth death not motherhood… Continue Reading
Day 73
A very busy day ahead. A very busy week, in fact. It will be Friday evening before I’ve even thought about it. We pack our days with so many things…. Continue Reading
Day 72
Just now, I accidentally freed a fly from a spider’s web on the outside of the office door. Maybe it’s a metaphor for something. Two-way guilt. Guilt at depriving the… Continue Reading
Day 71
I can already say that Humankind by Rutger Bregman is a brilliant book, and I’m very grateful to have been gifted it. Of course, I can’t say until the very end… Continue Reading
Day 70
My head still fuzzy from deep sleep. Totally weird dreams last night. DJs and parties, restaurants serving swill. Wandering without belongings. Waking in strange paces. Not belonging. Following not leading…. Continue Reading
Day 69
Have you ever seen a discarded note or letter on the pavement and wanted to pick it up? I did yesterday, and it seemed like a physical confirmation of my… Continue Reading
Day 68
Self-censorship doesn’t merely happen in the moment just before the words hit the paper, or the immediate moment afterwards. It happens all the time. I have developed this unfortunate capacity… Continue Reading
Day 67
My brain feels starved of words this morning. Although the sun is shining. Ebbs and flows. Occasionally, a monastic existence has its attractions; the repetition of rituals, the sense of… Continue Reading
Day 66
When I look to the horizon beyond our compact garden, I imagine I can hear the sound of the bombardments in Ukraine. It might seem fanciful, but I remember my… Continue Reading
Day 65
Another fragmentary. I’m copyrighting that noun. A miniature daffodil has come out in the garden. I spend too much time writing these posts. My mind is perpetually racing with hat… Continue Reading