"the spectacles of experience: through them you will see clearly a second time."
- henrik ibsen (major norwegian playwright of the late 19th century, 1828-1906)
i feel distracted, these days, and slightly discouraged, suspended as i am between life as i know it - my job ends in a few weeks - and life as it will become. prospects are sparse and unsettled. all i can do is fold myself firmly around a fine strand of optimism and hope it holds.
i could use a pair of rose-coloured glasses right now, but all i can seem to find are blue ones.
a dodgy back - and visitors expected for tea - meant no leisurely sunday out and about; a little expedition, however - to a deserted industrial park nearby - was exactly what the doctor ordered. just a five-minute drive from home, just a few square blocks of sheds and warehouses, crates and clutter: it was unexpectedly photogenic...but then again, in the fresh air, and under a sky as crisp and blue as it was last weekend, even the most everyday looks extraordinary.
they swing separately, on their own hinges, transcribing slow arches on their
own halves of the meadow, and they never truly touch, for that is the nature of their commitment.
they face each other only at the end of time passed, equidistant and bound: by their mutual story, by this singular space, and by that endless, endless receding view.
this web - this place we share - is wide, yes, but paradoxical: disparate and united, detached and intuitively intimate.
being even a little part of it pleases me immensely, and has done for