Hitting this wall
It has taken weeks to realise what caused me to hit this particular wall. It was reading a poem by my friend Julie Whiting. It is one of a series, not yet published.
I had thought I'd be drinking my Lebanese coffee with lots of sugar in the sunshine and generally feeling at peace.
Instead I was doing two things.
Looking across the street, gazing through the lamp posts and cars, holding thoughts in my head.
Then I would be looking at the words, perhaps two at a time as I read across the lines. The moment I'd start doing this I would sense the air touching my arm, face, neck. At the same time I would have in my mind the images or facts from a few lines further back in my head.
After that I would shift to looking across the street again and would stop perceiving the air moving over me, why?
This happened every time I looked down then looked up again.
I don't want to give the game away by talking about the poem. You might get to read it one day. Read it fresh, without expecting it.
Not wanting time to move forward. Stay still, move slowly, don't disappear. If I have to wait for things, then that's how it is.
The Waterstone's in the centre of Oxford has the best poetry section. I read the names on the spines. All these names I know. I can't read the collections or even one poem, but I can read the names.