13 February. Gray dawn light. Plants gathered in small jungle of pots under the eves--the tree cutters come today--Monterey pine. Groby Great Tree, of recent memory--Ford Maddox Ford, Parade's End, just after the First World War--Tietjens, the later son, unexpected inheritance...responsibility. Worlds revolving, colliding even. Velikovsky careens off the Mecon's wall of sound--no, more a nasty garage-band twist, set up in some Soho dive--Cockney, that is, or the Midlands--where the limitations of accent run thick, a social bridle and bit in every waiting mouth...
But it's gray outside, the white van waits patiently for owner's return, or cell-phone girl in black and pink, purse and bag, hair damp from shower, thumbing a paper on dark green recyling can lid. Hope of song, in an unexpected place. Even again: unexpected.
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