ichthyosaur
Dear Ciara,
A cerulean sky. The Organist and I are sitting in the garden and reading in the sunlight. He is currently devouring Picnic at Hanging Rock; I am revisiting Kate Llewellyn’s A Fig At The Gate. I had a craving for her, as I often do. For a moment, I stopped reading to watch a cloud that looked like the fossilised paddle of an ichthyosaur float by. Is paddle the right word, or is it flipper? I’m not sure. It doesn’t really matter, anyway.
I’m sorry that it has been a while since I’ve written. I’ve been recharging. Work has been sucking at my soul recently, and the state of the world has heightened my anxiety. I am eager for the holidays. Eager to escape.
What has been happening with me? Well, we visited some friends the other days. I drank a little too much wine and ate raw sweet-leaves from their garden. I’ve also been procrastinating writing my thesis, but filling in my free-time with a couple of miniature creative projects. They will likely remain unfinished for eternity, but I don’t mind. It’s nice just to experiment and have a little fun. My dwarf cosmos are also flowering amazingly. Take a look for yourself:
Lorde’s new album comes out on Friday and I am trembling with anticipation. Since she's two years older than me, her lyrics often reflect experiences I’m just starting to go through when each album comes out. I have a feeling this album will be no different. I plan to visit the Botanic Gardens alone to sit and soak Virgin up.
Later
You just called me, Ciara, and I am sick with nostalgia. The only cure is a late night conversation on your balcony. Thankfully, I won’t have to wait long—I will be seeing you next Saturday! For that, I am also trembling with anticipation. Maybe we can listen to Virgin together? Discuss our thoughts. We have much to catch up on.
The song for today is:
Solar Power — Lorde
Do you remember when we first listened to Solar Power together? We were driving up Dorrigo Mountain. The sky was a hazy, temperate blue, and we were planning to walk the Wonga Walk. It felt like Lorde was God and speaking down to us from the heavens. ”I’m kinda like a prettier Jesus.”
Love,
The Gardener