Warmth

Dear friends,

Here is a blast of warming for you all during these darker winter days.  Today we have a wind warning for overnight, but the world is quite still and almost a tad pulpy looking out there. Wherever you are I hope you enjoy this collaboration. I especially appreciated the hilly twinkles in the piece Pendulum. On an off beat note, I did wonder how the Mr Fain fiddler manages to play all those notes in such a restrictive jacket and how he doesn’t overheat. I wrote many parts of my novel Malarky listening to Metamorphosis 4 on repeat. I wonder if you can hear it under the prose.

I send you all my best Winter warmth and gratitude for your warm support throughout the year for Malarky. AK.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_jDwx9TYo4&w=560&h=315]

The rest of the West Coast world audaciously announced yesterday as the last day of summer, whereas here at Literature et Folie the Autumn season is already four days underway.

A CBC report (what-do-they-know-wha?) declared the summer passed a “bummer summer”. What a ludicrous assertion, on what basis? On the basis of assumption. The assumption of what summer must be. It was certainly not a “bummer summer” rather it was a moody summer season with pronounced independent thinking and bouts of non conformity and an impressive last minute “up do”. The only mildly inconvenient aspect of it was the late start to the growing season, but my garden was suffering from drowning by peat so I think my peat flooding was more of a problem than the lack of sun.

I have to check the winter forecasts, the last time I looked they were predicting colder than normal temperatures for the Wesssst and warmer than normal elsewhere.

I am heartened by the arrival of our atmospheric rains. They are so temperate thus far. I am awaiting the first fog eagerly.

Today we had a revisit from the particular light I mentioned previous, except this time it had a new added particular about it.

Firstly I witnessed it above/on an expanse of road, rather than a street corner. The particular light was sneaking over and across a bunch of sunken grey cloud. The added particular was this masking of grey that reminded me of the smog when Burns Bog caught fire.

I ended up viewing the light high up in a building half an hour later east rather than west. It had acquired a Turkish pink hue.

That’s actually two new particulars. I am live in the act of misremembering, which segues nicely to a radio piece I heard not long after clocking the light(s).

It was a discussion about the dehumanizing aspect of certain technologies, specifically recording technologies that indicate every interaction with every single person we meet must be documented by these technologies. (They were originally designed for military purposes) The woman interviewed described how this robs us of forgetting, misremembering or embellishing memories so they take on whole new extras. She pointed out that the act of failing etc to remember is important to us. What a relief to hear this, since I have been concerned at recent inability to remember certain things and my increasing preponderance to misidentifying people. (is that failure to identify and encroaching visual blindness?)

In the garden, one armed digging, with a small implement. Removed some of the patchwork of blighted tomatoes which had dropped into the soil And hark! The soil, 4 years later and a chip shop of rubble churned up, is finally looking like soil of some sincerity. Had a rummage and found teeny, ickle potatoes as Helen said I would. The much doted upon arugula plant looks happy and certain in there. I have ambitions to be a winter gardener, but  since I cannot ever recall the code to the communal shed it’s a challenge.