Please imagine the inviting smoothness of the unbroken spine, the crisp feel of as-yet-un-turned pages, and that lovely new-book smell as you read this….
Two new items are up on the what the afternoon knows bookshelves. There’s Poem for the Day (1), a great anthology of poems, which is ideal as a present, and/or for encouraging you to read poetry. And there’s a remarkable bit of non-fiction, Jane Shilling’s The Stranger in the Mirror: a memoir of middle age. This is an extraordinary book, honest, moving, and beautifully written.
Would love to hear from anyone else who’s read, or is reading these.
Some of you who are following these pages may know—
Wait. Before I go on: those of you who are following these pages: thank you. I’m not yet ready to use “message” as a verb, but I do appreciate being, um, contacted, whether privately or publicly. And it’s wonderful to know things I say are resonating. Is it bad that I want to use the slogan for the Syrius Cybernetics Corporation? Share and enjoy, companions, share and enjoy.
Anyway. Some of you who are following these pages may know that, in the hope of spreading the word about what the afternoon knows, I’m recently embarked (more…)
Like many things, not all choir-practices are created equal.
Some are frustrating and tiresome; some irritate and enervate; others simply feel as if they’ll never come to an end. You’re singing a piece which isn’t to your taste and, as you listen to another part (it’s always another part, of course, never the sopranos) sing their line over and over and STILL make the same mistake, you look at your watch and realise there are still 57 long minutes left to go till tea time (and the word has gone round that it’s not even chocolate squares tonight, only oat crunches). The church heating’s set either (more…)
So: we walked the 25ish miles from Frome to Bath, stopping to swim, eat and pour water at various points along the way.
Sounds like a kicking weekend, huh? But this turned out to be one of those experiences where time seems to expand to accommodate all the stuff its brings. I think of this as herniated time—time which bulges sideways and intrudes into eternity, or timelessness, or both (if they’re not the same).* All this to be obtained merely by putting one foot in front of the other.
The morning’s walk on day one took us across fields, past poplar-copses (we stopped to listen to the wind in the leaves) (more…)
I’m having a lovely time beginning to fill the bookshelves at what the afternoon knows.
A few posts ago I hit upon the happy idea of linking each post about a Thing with a poem (or sometimes even poems) which would then go into the wtak anthology. Pleasing, don’t you think? So I have today just put up a page about ‘Water’, the poem linked to the first post about thing 4. And I’m already excited about which poem is going to go with the next post. It’s like having access to a sweet shop, but one where the sweets only do you good. How marvellous is that? How can you resist? There’s not a huge range up there yet, but it is growing. Have a look!
The second post about thing 4, part two of the pilgrimage, will be with you in a few days. For the moment, I’ll just mention that I’m hoping to go and watch murmurations some time over the next few weeks or so, as one of my Things. Anyone want to join me?