31 January 2024
It has been almost two weeks since the sun has graced a full afternoon or morning here. Daffodil bulbs reach for the odd warmth, even at the end of January. Birds, usually gathering at suet feeders, remain conspicuously absent. The times trudge ahead cautiously while logic and ethic crumble both at home and abroad. Spotlights, rolling cameras blind and confuse. Insane bravado, contrived entrapment to escalation in hot zones writhe and play into smug camera profiles touting retribution and neofascism. Or will complicity and initiation of wringing hands against world threats slip into destruction & annihilation one evening unannounced? Every channel holds the same insanity and isn’t worth the time that’s left.
I switch to radio, now. Maurice Ravel – Pavane Pour Une Infante Défunte. I prepare a very late lunch, slicing the garden fennel ever-so-cautiously, believing against all indications to the contrary that Love will triumph.
