looking straight ahead
February 26, 2012
Leaving the allotment on West Hill, I usually make the journey back home in a solitary and significant manner – eyes straight ahead and focused on the horizon. The rhythm of the movement of easy strolling is extremely pleasant – it’s all down hill after all. Today, having spent a good time either bent over or on my knees taking couch grass out of iris corms, the journey was more than ever pleasurable. So the chronicle of the route is shown visually by the images. The sun today so bright and warm that the foreground is dark in contrast . . . but the view east looking to the country park and the building that houses the East Hill lift workings seems mellow . .
. . . the view to the burnt out pier is encapsulated by the canopy of a stand of holm oaks – rather an elegant boat drifts into the picture . . .
. . . and looking to the castle fortifications, I realise that there are many textures and surfaces here – natural and man made – that I hadn’t clocked before.
Strolling down into Wellington Square, the facade of the east facing terrace looks almost like Brighton. My. how smart we have become! But not really!
And what would the Misses Lutwidge think of the world wide acknowledgement of their nephew!
Some picnicking on the beach . . .
. . . and can’t resist the view through the pier railings . . . near my destination, the DFL’s ( Down from London) have emerged from their homes to inhabit all the cafes and eateries as they should on a fine Sunday morning.
The future is space, earth-colored space,
color of water, air,
black space with room for many dreams,
white space with room for all snow,
for all music.
Behind lies despairing love
with no room for a kiss.
There’s a place for everyone in forests,
in streets, in houses;
there’s an underground space, a submarine space,
but what joy is to find in the end,
an empty planet
great stars clear as vodka,
so uninhabited and so transparent,
and arrive there with the first telephone
so that so many men can later discuss
all their infirmities.
The important thing is to be scarcely aware of oneself,
to scream from a rough mountain range
and see on another peak
the feet of a woman newly arrived.
Come on, let’s leave
this suffocating river
in which we swim with other fish
from dwan to shifting night
and now in this discovered space
let’s fly to a pure solitude Pablo Neruda The Future is Space