The funeral home’s jingle
On a personal level, the absurd brings moments of light relief amidst the gnawing frustration and deep desire to escape
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Coronavirus
The changing light of the sea
There he was swirling on the patio, filtered by the syrupy light of the last evening sun. Love him as I do, but seeing him, there was the most jarring effect.
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She who roams by the cemetery
I don’t know whether the woman who roams by the cemetery is Romany, but she is very much lost.
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The tall avenues of nothing
I watch the scene at the top of the tall avenues: there’s nothing. Barcelona is a city of fiestas and insofar as it’s a city of siestas, the difference now is that the sleep people fall into is morose, immoderate.
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The purples of Ronda
We discuss whether or not to distance ourselves from other tourists, without having the language to validate what in other times, would be labelled a prejudice.
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With a bit of perspective
Nothing seemed especially different that day, except perhaps the dissonance between the honeyed glow of the sun in people’s smiling faces and the intuition none of us could afford to be complacent.
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Annulé
The odd car careers around the twist in the road. Another slows hauntingly, to check whether I’m a ghost.
From sardines to sang froid
As gusts swirl, the mastheads clamour for attention, like the percussion section in a school orchestra.
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…musing and searching for meaning
No one is being levelled up or levelled down; all of us, farmer and financier alike, “are in this together”.
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