Last morning at Fran's mum's, board games and mugs of tea, lunch of leftovers, with the rain falling outside and the leaves catching the raindrops and the sky heaving and pregnant with clouds. Jars of pickle on the kitchen counter. Coffee grinds in the compost tin. Crumbs and coasters on the dining table. John showing us round his converted camper van. Helena filling our hands with apples from the garden and half empty cartons of milk, asking if we've had enough, if there's anything she can get us. Talking with Suzannah about Virginia Woolf and Charles Dickens. Fran sitting by my legs making noises to get me to give her strokes. The afternoon wearing on.
Snoozing with Fran in the backseat on the way home, holding hands, my head in Fran's shoulder, Fran playing with my hair. Then back to my house, the emptiness of my room, a few hours to myself before bed and then work tomorrow. Easy shows on Netflix, dark chocolate Lindt, a cup of Earl Grey, the loneliness of the night.
No escaping into drugs or alcohol, no resisting the quiet sadness all around. Let it be and let it be and let it be. Breathe in and breathe out. Feel the surrounding air, the encroaching emptiness, the play of breeze from window upon skin.
So much aggression and fear growing in our world, angry people people lashing out at the wrong targets, power-hungry politicians struggling to the top of piles of shit on rivers of bile, all to preside over dust and bones, amass gold that glitters at nothing as we hack each other apart.
We need to stop and feel the sadness of the cosmos and rest within it, see its beauty, back away slowly from this edge. All of us together. We all contain marvels, each of us is made of glorious dirt. Just drop the weapons and embrace the stillness. It is the only way that ever worked.
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