There are things that I can remember about this week, but there are many that have slipped past me as time feels increasingly like the Dalí painting of melting clocks titled The Persistence of Memory. Of the parts of the week that did settle, here is a selection:
We used the washing machine only once, meaning less hanging out and taking in of laundry from the sun, which I enjoy doing even though the random, brightly-coloured collection of plastic pegs in this rented house continues to bother me
I listened to council workers emptying the monstrous community glass bin up the road, which was not deafening in the way that it would be were one standing too close, but instead sounded like a gentle, glittering rain
You found a dead hornet inside the shed, it had seemingly given up trying to get out of the curtain
I stood in an afternoon-heat line of people outside at the post office, clutching two small parcels and two letters (destined for England, England, Scotland, America) while a young, booted security guard ensured that suitable distance was kept from others, informing each individual when they were allowed to proceed
More magpies than usual
I recently ordered seven books in a moment of desperation, and all but one has now arrived—I am still waiting on Rebecca Solnit
Futures hang in front of us like mobiles, suspended, and ethereal, the weights held together with thin, strong wires. The pieces dance erratically when the wind gets up, but it never loses its points of balance, and even on still days the air we’re breathing out seems enough to provide minor movements, and I feel convinced again that we will reach the futures, that they are not going anywhere
WORK-RELATED NEWS:
The hours have been spent proofreading for other people, and working on the proposal for the idea somewhat alluded to in last week’s newsletter—in short, work consisted of uncomplicated affairs and there is no great need to describe any further.
And a thank you, to those of you who have ordered a print from my website during this time, it is so impossibly appreciated. I hope the small pieces of universe that have reached you are providing some perspective and assurance.
THIS WEEK I FELL IN LOVE WITH:
Images by photographer and filmmaker Linda Brownlee.
June in a day or so, the longest day of the year approaching even though nobody can possibly feel ready—we haven’t moved enough yet, haven’t done or thought enough or held people close enough to warrant June and the longest day. I usually find there is a lot to say about June, but I’m not sure this time, for the natural world has carried on without us, better for the lack and the lessened noise, and as such I don’t feel that I can lay any particular claim to the lengthening and shortening of skies, the cycles of growing—it is plenty for now, to simply watch a bee landing clumsily on flower after flower, without having to explain away everything that is delicate and important.
