No.268
August ending, a list:
We exist as increments
In the last couple of weeks we have, several times now, heard and therefore seen geese flying overhead—this confirms the suspicion that summer is over
Looking back in this archive and confirming that last August it was only warm enough to leave the front door open a handful of times, which was surprising to read given that this year it’s certainly been left open far more and yet everything feels much less ripe
Revisiting proposed solutions for living in turbulent times i.e. all times are turbulent: lingering looks at the moon, less plastic, more swimming, fewer schedules, the beautiful kind of boredom, neck stretches, stretches of time alone
I (accidentally) stood on one snail, which is more than in some months and fewer than in others
Two boughs of the plum tree were so laden and lowered with fruit that when leaving to drive anywhere we could hear those branches and their fruits thud loudly across the roof of the car—on one occasion a single plum got itself comfortable near a roofbar and you drove all the way to Glasgow and all the way across to Edinburgh and then all the way back to Glasgow before realising a plum had accompanied you the whole time
What I mean is—the plum withstood 70mph speeds!
I purchased a kilogram of slightly-out-of-date duck and swan food but have yet to feed any ducks, or any swans
I also purchased (for £5.99) a 25kg sack of peanuts to help see the garden-visiting birds through the winter
In the fall, we step outside and everything comes toward us. Early morning lawns are silver with frost, and breezes sweep past tree trunks with a robust whistle. Flocks of birds segment and join in the sky. Grassant snakes slither on their bellies through the leaves. People wear jackets and huddle together. The summer belongs to the sky, I think, and the winter belongs to the ground. — Kevin Brockmeier, ‘Apples’
We are balanced on the edge of autumn which, as supposed above, is to be huddled, in spirits and in body and in seasonal changes, the slipping and brightening then the muting of colours and in the softening and muddying of edges, also in the decomposing of leaf and longing
Sometimes one is left feeling extremely disorientated after visitors i.e. it is possible to forget what it was you were doing exactly with your entire life
When the wind picks up it is in fact suggesting that you let things go (in other words it picks up so you can place down)
There are certain types of wind which can make the trees (if they are in leaf) look like they are trembling with apprehension or nervousness, particularly poplars
What does it mean when you primarily want to knit sweaters and/or lie down on the sofa while eating chocolate mousse?
I do not think that I personally draw any sort of dividing or determining lines of importance between things like ‘designing a book cover’ and ‘placing paperclip-sized frogs out of harm’s way’—both being equally nice and enriching ways to spend one’s time
I do however draw dividing lines between things like ‘clearly pointing out obvious truths’ and ‘being individually comfortable’ because on one side is bare-minimum-some-discomfort-looking-honestly-at-occupation-at-genocide-at-oppression-actively-forming-alternatives and on the other side is mutely contributing to pain and to damaging systems which believe it is not problematic to bring down entire buildings on top of malnourished children
We really have very little idea as to what people were doing in the Iron Age
When I shout to you from the top of the stairs and ask if you have anything to say about August you say ah, mm, it was a bit too short, that’s all
And for a longest month it really did feel quite brief—we drank some of the best coffee yet and were gifted plum wine and bestowed love upon people and had it bestowed back and a friend had a baby and so we fed them chicken soup and the river went up and down like it was sighing
Apples fall routinely from the trees but I never see them doing so
I was determined but in which direction or for what reason I’m unsure
THIS WEEK I FELL IN LOVE WITH:
Bewitching photographs taken by Elena Heatherwick (technically my second bewitching). I think it’s the light? Because I am always looking for it you see—in rivers, on walls, in eyes.
I cannot believe for the third time, this poem:
Concerned with Atrocities, Before Breakfast (written October 14th 2023)
This morning I neatly slice a slightly overripe
slightly wrinkled peach
in half
It occurs to me that so much fruit of faraway places will not get
eaten
Will not get
loved, held
Instead, I read of the words said aloud by a mother in Gaza—
wishing her small baby had never been born because already
its fragile life has
gone, taken by types of violence the universe never meant
to touch its tiny form
The stars I suppose they cry themselves awake, asleep, I cannot focus on anything
because I am eating two peach halves and
walking alongside a river
as the daily promises made by gentle people in hotter, smoke-filled apartment buildings are broken
and burned in ways
that cannot be put back together
“Anyway it will be autumn tomorrow or the next day: I can smell it in the air–summer smoldering.”
— J. L. Carr, from A Month in the Country (Harvester Press, 1980)
Again and for however long necessary: (Actions for demanding a Free Palestine and an end to genocidal occupation.) / (Reading list for a Free Palestine.) / (Postcards for Palestine, free PDF downloads.) / (Send a physical postcard demanding an end to UK arms sales.) / (Ten free ebooks for getting free from Haymarket Books.) Also: (Support verified Sudanese support campaigns.)
Paid supporters of The Sometimes Newsletter will (sometimes) receive one or two additional pieces each month, including things like short stories, illustrated mini essays, and more detailed looks into creative processes. The most (somewhat) recent of these being:
In Praise of Anything
There are many volumes which specifically aim to praise things to a dramatic literary degree, whether that be folly, shadows, slowness, idleness, walking, floods, boredom, missing out, the night, poetry, hands, mountains, diaries, or really any topic or theme you can additionally think of. To me most of these literal titles seem either obvious, diminishing, misleading, or a combination of all three.
Amazing about the plum’s journey!
the light in those photographs! 💛