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Monday, 12 June 2006
Wild flowers.
The insurgency of the heat has lifted, and so has my workload. Dispatched with a few cursory glances at references, now is not the time to be asking "have I done my best?".
Legs crosses, a slight ache in the thighs. Three wretched, tumbling, satisfying days of work this week. The daily bore bores us, but when it gets it right, we all wind up at home exhausted and happy. Got robbed, got excluded, got involved, eight nine ten salty hours in a row, each and every day, a million conversations, one or two decisions, infinite sleep.
At the beach momentarily yesterday, watching intrepid idiots wade over the submerged causeway to the white lighthouse, arms aloft, hoping for the sun. We sat in tall dune grass watching the gulls watching us. Two divers rolled to the surface, a bi-plane juddered overhead. Ball games on a cliff-top, an outreaching tide revealing steps, mentions of perfect photographs. Soon I will be able to expose everything.
Now, at home and easy. Trying to avoid football is a chore, so have taken to the back yard. Decided to sabotage the dull greens and greys of the vegetable patch by planting scores of wild flower seeds. The competition will bring the best out in them, no doubt.
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