Sunday, 31 January 2016

A Slow Catastrophe

I always like a book to look good on the inside as well as the outside.
This is the beginnings of my new work, and it's looking good.

















Everyone said it was going to be a hot summer and it seemed just saying the words made it real. People wilted as the grass grew crisp and the cicadas thrummed in ecstasy. The river shrank from the banks as if the scorched earth would suck it dry and the hawks wheeled in the thermal in effortless wonder. The air had the promise of long dusty days when the clock stopped ticking and the sun dictated the hour. Everybody said, ‘before it got too hot’, ‘it is too hot now’ and ‘after it cools down’. For me, it was a summer made of memories.


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