Delightful afternoon amongst the gilded, cold pavements and the odd poem.
False economy of summer, tempting with sunshine and rebuking with urgent wind, hurrying the people. Delays of the morning were sent into the afternoon, so ate breakfast at lunch and ate my fill. Eggs and butter, pepper and wholemeal bread, turning beige tea turning slowly cooling turning by the windowlight.
Park earlier, under prop and shade of gnarled, growthy trunk. Two friends, tumbling along the path in a breeze barely holding hands, and looking. I ran through the bushes to find them.
Back on the blanket, the curl of fingers and palm, the stretch of twining legs and an easy cigarette, bringing a slight ache, but then released like a balloon.
Read poems all day and books too, sad seamstresses and humorous cosmopolitan inquisitors filled the pages with their inks, and I even thought about me in a few years and whether I could form as they form. Perhaps within this, there are echoes of last night, in the large, spacious, closing space of a literary event where we guessed at origins and relations as the publishers looked on at the launching of a book, wishing it were a ship. The writers looked sheepishly at their shoes and were reprimanded for it.
However, now I off to work, not begrudgingly, for it is a hastily arranged wedding after plans were ruptured and saddened. An oppositional to the rites and joys of last weeks wedding, but I expect that a pinnacle will be raised from adversity, because it always is. Anything is a pinnacle in circumstances bereft.
For the best, and on the right side of life, yours.