I write this in the front seat of the van in a rainswept carpark waiting for Dan. It’s a small chance to get uninterrupted time to think and write, without internet (if I ignore the phone in my pocket)

“Hello darkness my old friend. I ‘ve come to talk to you again…” (Simon and Garfunkel. Sound of Silence).

On Friday night we teetered into mild despondency. Of the world but also the work. A run of funding rejections, of negotiations, of doubts.

‘Remember, remember, the fifth of November, Gunpowder treason and plot; I see no reason why gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot.’

Sshhhhhh

So echoes a relay of sound as ‘Stories and Supper’(https://www.storiesandsupper.co.uk/) warm up for the singing we are doing today.

I stand longer than necessary brushing teeth and staring out of the bathroom window watching the blue tits on feeders dangling from sprawling buddleia

There are three spiders I have come to greet every morning hoping they are still there and alive.

I remember a poetry session in primary school. Write a poem about November. No sun. No moon. November. It got pretty bleak pretty quickly

It is Halloween. All Hallows Eve.

The word hallowed has etymological origins in the Old English for holy or sanctified. Like life.

Struggling to breath. Images of people trapped under rubble. Faces ashen. Hearts failing.