I go back to the curves of that sea along the beach, shapely as a woman’s hips. To the dark, side street bars and waving aloe stalks, the persistence of salt in the maritime air.
Nick Drake. The wonder of discovery of this lost soul for many of us in the late 90s. Ghostly and withdrawn he passes through like something remarkable outside your window you’re likely to miss.
The most precious things we keep hold meaning for only us, and it’s those things we surround ourselves with as time takes all the rest.
We can curl up with our cats and blankets and books and reheat yesterday’s soup.
Sitting outside as the storm gathers, on the outer edge of it: thinking that all things have their edges good or bad, where they begin.
It took me way too long to appreciate the nuance in that record, called April and released on April 1, 2008.
Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.