Painting bees and flowers, but can smell cake cooking. Must be ghost cakes. Hannah phoned. She has been eating cherries straight from a French tree. She was sitting on a windowsill and it is hot outside and she and Gwen cycle every morning to buy bread for breakfast. Holiday. Tom has a rowing race on Saturday and I know that there should be more things on my list of things to do.
I have been listening to rain on the roof, sheep bleat and Alice Oswald's Dart. Her words are tangled with the subtle weight and colour of water.
Nevermind, I found Glyn's address in a previous post. I shall have to write him a long and photographically illustrated letter.
ReplyDeleteI love wandering through the world that your beautiful words conjure up for me. So different to my own but so familiar from visits many years ago. Those pictures of your work space with all the tempting brushes and paints make me sometimes wish that photography, much as I love it, involved a more hands on, paint a glorious wash of watercolour across a a slightly textured piece of paper approach!
ReplyDeleteSo, you are a list maker, too. I've known list makers, and they are the ones who get things done. Loved your site.
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