And just like that we're a month into fall. Though it seems like I'm still waiting for it somehow, its noumena hasn't fully unfurled yet -- the leaves haven't fully turned, the ravine not yet a carpet. I've been gathering little things; conkers in my pockets. I roll them between my fingers when I walk, nuggets of beauty to be held and regarded.
Listening & Watching: David Naimon interviews David Mitchell | Mothers of Ireland (I love Peggy) | RTE 2-part programme about Heaney | BBC 5-part about Beckett | Best singles of 1984
Reading: A Kevin Barry short story (to read online) | Bad Art is Good for Us All | I Start & I Finish (and yes, Colm Tóibín has a new book) | So lots of Tóibín | Caring About Clothes | "Madewell rifles through its non-existent past, desperate for borrowed heritage + authenticity" - via | And more David Mitchell | Jeff Koons | Everything Mark O'Connell writes | Things to Be Cognizant Of
Loving: The Row | &Daughter | Facial massages | This cleanser | I haven't shampooed in 3 months (using this, trying this next) and my head is happy | Pink walls | Moon coasters | Colourscopes, via Anabela
I feel shy being here after so long, though there have been moments when I strained to come here, to tell you my tales. But I've got used to my own silence. I write posts in my mind sometimes, walking up the ravine, but by the time I get home the urgency is gone. Stephanie shared this article recently. It has stayed with me.