Being in the kitchen of Monkland ...

Jay played me songs by Co-Pilgrim on Spotify before dinner - we were sitting in the kitchen - a cat with fur like black feathers rubbed itself against my legs - the air was filled with spooky harmonies - I was aware of the gracious house all around me, its book filled rooms, the upright piano, the poignant pictures on the walls, the bunch of fresh coriander upon the table before me - 

Charlie had come back home from South America - he told me how he had climbed a mountain - we got up in the dark and climbed to the top in time for sun rise - 

I imagined Charlie's shadow, cast by the new Andean sun, moving over the snow, conquistadors' cathedrals on the altiplano, fish sleeping in jungle rivers - 

Bridget swiftly made a vegetable curry - she said that she was taking lessons in order to improve her swimming - I suggested that they stay with us in the summer - we could swim off Winspit, afterwards basking like lizards upon the rocks, fossils pressed against our salty skin -  

When we left the house for Leytonstone, I gazed back at the doorway - the name of the house was Monkland - the lozenges of stained glass glowed like pale jewels in the light of the hallway - 

19.00

January 17 2015

Outside Monklands

Clapton

London