old man

Awe and shame

A sturdy stockman’s cane, made of ash, octagonal in cross-section, with a rather large crook, the kind of stick used to prod unwilling cattle into a pen or up a chute.

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Last-Year-in-Marienbad

Geometry

No place to linger, here, under the gaze of blank windows. No fish live in that pool. Nothing grows that is not planned. A scene from Bergman, or Tati, or Alain Resnais.

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detail Dadd

Least hop clover

Walks become botanising expeditions to an internal litany of names. Heal-all, toad flax, cranesbill; yarrow, tansy; a rare moth mullein, the ubiquitous birdsfoot trefoil. When a name escapes, the thing has escaped and the world is lessened until the name is recalled, rehearsed, fixed again in place.

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William Blake, The Ghost of a Flea, c.1819-20

3 John

The Third Epistle of John, the shortest book in the New Testament, is tucked away in a sort of water meadow between the towering peaks of St. Paul’s dialectical masterpieces and the terrifying bog of Revelations.

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Geoffrey of Monmouth

Silence

I have only now learned of the death, over a year ago, of Fr. James Coutts, former vicar of St. Mary’s, Monmouth. The news brings a rush of memories of a most gentle and saintly man, and a reminder of a debt.

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Trafic small

Bulgaria

Joy in our little world. A successful migration of our websites yesterday, in a matter of a few nail-biting hours, from an awful hosting service (that shall, in the euphoria of the moment, remain unnamed) to an efficient and altogether up-to-snuff host called SiteGround, who seem to be a crew of attractive Bulgarians in Sofia. […]

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