I feel like I should be writing a new post. Actually, I want to write a new post. I just can’t focus on anything that’s worth being written.
I had a look through my drafts, but none of them fit my mood. I’m still slightly nauseous – not physically, but in my head – from over-indulging in the wine and limoncello and Cuba Libre and champagne on my grandma’s 86th birthday dinner/party on Wednesday.
I have so much time on my hands, that I cannot fit enough things in to fill up my days. I know that’s a luxury problem, but it’s a problem nonetheless. Time is dripping through my fingers and I don’t know what to do with it. It’s all over the floor at the moment. A bit of a mess, to be honest.
I should be writing my NaNo novel, except that I gave up winning that and started a new story half-way through. I’ll have to write thousands of words every day for the next week if I want to win. I could do it. Maybe I should do it. Maybe I will. Not sure.
Walking the dog in the mornings is fine. There’s clear, crisp, slightly wet air and it wakes me up and clears my head. And there’s things to see, like this:
And sometimes this, although not so much anymore, because the leaves are falling rapidly:
Sorry for the total lack of focus on this post. It’s an adequate representation of my mind at the moment.
While putting together a collection of music for a friend, I got stuck on Nick Drake. To be exact, on Bryter Layter. And writing a little anecdote for said friend, explaining why I’d chosen this album, I relived the times I described and it suddenly became so real and so overwhelming that I couldn’t go on and am now, on an autumnal Saturday night, at my desk, listening to the whole album and drifting somewhere between daydreaming and remembering. I will just hope that the friend in question does not read this post before I can send the music off, because I’m just going to copy what I just wrote for him half an hour ago because I can’t describe it any better:
I can’t say that I have a favourite Nick Drake album, but if I had one, I think it would be this or Pink Moon. This is my “falling-asleep-under-the-stars” album. I listened to it almost every night when I was travelling in Croatia. I’d be outside in the sun all day, hiking or swimming or reading or writing or meditating and when it started getting dark, I’d crawl into my little tent and watch the stars through the mosquito net of the open tentflap, snuggled into the sleeping bag more for comfort than warmth and I’d listen to the rustle of the wind in the pines and the creaking of wood as the earth slowly cooled down and then I’d put on my mp3-player and listen to this album very softly.
I held on to that feeling in a poem. I’ll share it below the songs, together with a photo I dedicated to the poem.
cold stars are out
warm and safe
in the dark
in my ears
piano and guitar
for lonely songs
with intricate longings
and the vulnerable voice
of a musician
who died too young
and yet can make me feel
in this night