don't confuse the narrator

light interlude

Having very little to write about – and very little time to write – I thought a photo would brighten up the page:

This was taken by the Severn Estuary this afternoon and is, I think, typical of British summer weather where even a cloudy day can have a tremendous luminous quality.

gentle reader

My partner just brought me home a reader – what more could any writer want?!

Well, no, it’s an e-reader, and it’s only on loan, but it’s still enormously interesting. I quote from the manual, with my own reactions and thoughts in italics:

Note on use:
Gentle reader,

• Replacement or repair of a broken or scratched touch panel is not covered by the warranty.
So you can touch, but you mustn’t scratch, prod, niggle or pick. Mind you, even touching is fairly libertine for this day and age.
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get off my lawn*

I’ve just signed up for FaceBook as so many people seem to think it’s the best way to keep in touch. In particular, there are poets I want to be in contact with and it seems to be where they hang out.

(It’s true that I also have friends, including some poets, who loathe and detest the system and think I must be mad, but I hope they won’t ‘unfriend me’ in Real Life because of it.)

When you sign up, the system asks for your date of birth, the theory being that you will then be shown age-appropriate content and adverts. Presumably like the one shown here, which seems to be telling me I am too old for FaceBook.
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the spaces between

The heart nests in the bone tree.
She chatters idly, then sings
when the sun touches her. In Spring
she seeks a mate, peeping
from behind a complex foliage
of words and silences.

(An old poem posted because the photo reminded me of the ‘complex foliage’. Having found it, I thought I’d try and remember something about how and why I wrote it.)

It was Castaneda’s Don Juan who talked of not seeing the shapes of the tree and its leaves, but instead looking at the spaces between them.
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