Tyres pumped up, frame and handlebars wiped down, headphones in (I know but it will mostly be in the huge Preston Park) and hard hat on, its the kind of autumn morning that says get on yer bike and drive the cobwebs away. I love autumn, the colours, the leaves, the conkers - one landed on my head on Friday, just outside my office. I shouted 'oi' but both the tree and a student laughed. And last night I slept on and off, this is not connected to the conker falling on my head but to other things swimming around in there - so much to think about and ticking off the list just sees new things being added, more and more until the list itself begs for a priority list to be written as an appendix to the first. When I awoke for the third time I decided to read a book of Matsu Basho haikus which sits by my bed. I try reading at least one ever night to wind me down but I have come back to this one many times:
all night
autumn winds being heard
behind the mountains
Its what keeps us awake, that wind behind the mountains, the things round the corner, over there, now there, and there, in another country, in another town, in another world, in another dimension of thought and ideas and preoccupations. They don't haunt my dreams - or if they do I wouldn't know. I often say I never dream, but maybe I do, I just don't remember them, or hardly ever anyway. I guess its because all night I am either sleeping or awake and listening to the wind blowing... so now, after I write this the wind will blow through my hair, my face, the plain and purl knit of my jumper as I hurtle through Fiveways (the area of Brighton I live in). It is the beginning of Autumn, the September spiders are out in force and soon September itself will be gone in the sigh of a heartbeat... one fine day, Un Bel Di' Vedremo and Maria Callas, a nice way to start - after a night of listening to the winds blowing behind the mountains:
all night
autumn winds being heard
behind the mountains
Its what keeps us awake, that wind behind the mountains, the things round the corner, over there, now there, and there, in another country, in another town, in another world, in another dimension of thought and ideas and preoccupations. They don't haunt my dreams - or if they do I wouldn't know. I often say I never dream, but maybe I do, I just don't remember them, or hardly ever anyway. I guess its because all night I am either sleeping or awake and listening to the wind blowing... so now, after I write this the wind will blow through my hair, my face, the plain and purl knit of my jumper as I hurtle through Fiveways (the area of Brighton I live in). It is the beginning of Autumn, the September spiders are out in force and soon September itself will be gone in the sigh of a heartbeat... one fine day, Un Bel Di' Vedremo and Maria Callas, a nice way to start - after a night of listening to the winds blowing behind the mountains:
