sees me flailing, running to London for an end-game meeting, haunted by all the words I haven’t written. Same as last year. All that’s changed is they’ve blown up the cooling towers. I can see more of the Berkshire field sweep, the deer in the early light unfazed by train thunder, the brash and street-dirty fox lifting his muzzle from the evergreen embankment brush. Motion is life. Daydreams are the antidote to distraction.
