Morning
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A lung infection has kept me inactive for some days. This morning feels easier, but sleep past 4 a.m. is still impossible, so after a quick search online to see which if any of our newspapers of record had deigned to notice Lee Harwood’s death ten days after the event; none, I made coffee and drank it in the dawn light while reading (with pleasure) first
(trigger warning: contain thoughts, ideas and opinions of someone else):
The Dream-God, by John Cuningham 1873
and then
Night Work
(the latter via the excellent Futility Closet).
Now sunlight is passing through the coleus and hot pepper leaves behind me and I’m happy to have spent some time in the OED with fane and murex.
