No.214
This month landed with a gulp. Lightly enough, but nonetheless with a distinct gulp. This has to do with noticing that the leaves on certain trees are already browning, or marooning, or falling off altogether, noticing the brightness leaving the sky earlier and earlier and the fact that it has now become appropriate to employ candles, their softness the only thing that seems to meet the gloom calmly enough that the gloom stays over there, rather than sneaking in quietly through the gaps in windows.
It has also been a strange gulp of heat, with temperatures which for here feel a little too hot for comfort and climate, though they have meant that swimming in the perpetual freezingness of the river has been more possible, if only for a blissful ten minutes before the body starts to cool too far down.
A NOTE:
Having put together a PDF of available original paintings for someone, I can email this to anyone else who would like it—original paintings will also become available via my website in the coming weeks, though this is a slow process so let me know if you’d like to be emailed the PDF in the meantime
“It was September. In the last days when things are getting sad for no reason.”
— Ray Bradbury, from “The Lake”
The river here changes with every rain, becoming fractionally warmer, or lower, then higher, colder, dragging down fallen branches or even entire trees, acting on behalf of fish so small you can harder detect them in the clear shallows, on behalf of the fish large enough that you hear them make distinct splashes but can never quite manage to turn your head fast enough to actually see.
Wide and pointless stripes are mowed routinely into the golf course as the grass puts on its last summer’s-end growth, and the dried leftover cuttings throw themselves into my shoes each time we walk over the manicured stretch to access the wild and contrasting water; each time we do so I find myself thinking that the expanse would make far more sense as a large public park for everyone to access and benefit from. Fortunately it is possible, for the most part, to forget about golfing while next to the river—the other day you retrieved a masquerading golf ball from the riverbed using your foot, and I whispered an apology to the stones.
I look up when the correct time would be to pick rosehips, and read it is best to do so after the first frost, but not too large of a frost. This will be coming soon.
WORK-RELATED NEWS:
The new issue of Orion arrived, and with it my next Root Catalog column, which you can happily read in full just below. If you are supposing that Orion might be something you would enjoy subscribing to in its satisfying papery form, you can currently read two more pieces from the current issue online: ‘Peaches and Preservation’, and ‘Poetry of Witness’.
“It is not unreasonable, I think, to draw a very clear and straight line between deforestation and a general, population-wide feeling of disconnection, dislocation. When we take out entire forests, we are taking away a literal holding-together of the ground we walk upon, taking away breathing apparatus, taking away the colour green.”
THIS WEEK I FELL IN LOVE WITH:
Manipulated photographs by Canadian artist Amy Friend, from her series ‘Dare alla Luce’ which in the Italian means “to bring to the light”.
The lovely Alanna Ford, who writes Circle of Magic, got in touch a few weeks back to ask me some questions about creativity, inspiration, attention, and practice, my answers to which you can read in this interview below, accompanied by some paintings:
Just finished reading: A Little Give, Marina Benjamin
Now reading: Indelicacy, Amina Cain, which has already stopped me six times within 74 pages to write down what I consider to be very striking sentences
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The regular, numbered newsletter is currently still free for everyone to read, with paid supporters receiving several additional posts each month, including short stories, previously archived writings, and more detailed looks into creative processes. September Landing Lightly is the most recent of these paid posts, an extract of which is available to read here:
September Landing Lightly
Sunday, appropriately, and as if drawn by an invisible force (likely a deficiency of vitamin D after eighteen months in northern Scotland), I climbed awkwardly out through the rotting sash window and onto the roof to access what I thought might finally
Dare alla luce has a double
meaning in italian. It also
means “to give birth”. beautiful