A week in Scotland and I’m back, to southern England with her crowded roads and weather. We had the sudden torrential downpours of the far east yesterday, monsoon like, loaded skies. The bricklayer finishing the terrace outside the new garage cottage had to find frequent shelter.
I went for a walk after speaking with Kemi Nekvapil, my live with her on Australian time of 7am in the UK suited me just fine. Here’s the recording in case you missed it :
There were so many tangents I wanted to go off on - Praiseworthy, farming, brambles and apple pie - but we had a precious hour and had to more or less stick to the main road. This is what happens in the company of such a brain and heart, such a brilliant, straight talking human; my system explodes with possibility and I want to split into a million, reach everything. She’s a master of presence. Her practice shines out. My atoms danced and we free ranged and laughed and I’ve upgraded my subscription to her Substack so as to join the harvest gatherings she has once a month. It was the discussion on being without expectation, the silence of community, that did it.
And then I went for a walk.
I took my neighbour’s dogs, Syd, and Ronnie Barker, wolf hound and dachshund. Across the field and into the woods, eyes down I heard a voice, There’s a bird. A girl on the path above me, the path that met mine. She was in various shades of paint-spattered black, a huge rucksack on her small back, an easel under her arm. She pointed. A bird sat on the path. Syd ran past but Ronnie - look away now, it wasn’t pretty. I paused thinking of human smell and hands and what would Chloe do. Ronnie sniffed. I bent to push his nose away, he grabbed. There was a squawk, a flurry, a cry and a crunch, it was awful and quick, awful but quick, it was over and the girl said, It’s better that way, it was supposed to happen, it is out of its misery and turned, easel and rucksack, and walked away. You’re a painter I said hopelessly to her departing form. Yes, she said without turning.
The body of the bird, limp head on broken neck, Ronnie, pleased with himself, me, terrible at this sudden show of nature. The voice said, No guilt, stop berating. It came to die. And it certainly felt that way though I didn’t like it. A meeting of paths. A dog and a girl and a bird and me. I said a prayer over its body. The girl disappeared round the bend.
Eleanor
