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.
Tag Archives | Waterloo
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.
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. […]
It is snowing and the streets are busy. The driver navigates with a fair bit of dash. We lurch forward when she makes a quick stop, from side to side when she veers around obstacles—not at all unpleasantly.
An old friend, Peter O’Shaughnessy, has just died in Winchester, the cathedral town in Southern England where he lived for many years in the St. John’s Charity almshouse in The Broadway, and in whose chapel his funeral is being held as I write these words. Peter was a rising star in the Australian cultural firmament […]