Don't Panic?
Monday 27th April, rainRain and cool grey skies, after the fine weather. Yesterday we took Milo and went for a walk in King Death's Garden, first time we've visited for a long tim. A beautiful day, beauties of spring all around, the primroses fading, bluebells in flower (more bluebells than ever before, I think), the elm trees so burdened with green-gold blossom they seem already to be in full leaf. Not much contest between the oak and the ash this year, the ash is definitely lagging, which means (may I remind you) a dry summer.
Something to mourn. One of the great twin copper beeches on the primrose slope in the valley, the prettiest place of all for early spring flowers, is gone. A huge stump sealed by wire netting. Ah, when did that happen? It used to be that one could say, well, never mind, nature always renews itself, it's humans who are ephemeral. Now no longer.
I'm reading The World Of The Shining Prince, in preparation for the readings at Fabrica this Thursday and being reminded of the two obsessions I found I shared with this eleventh century Japanese court lady. The passing of the seasons, with their different beauties; and the essential melancholy of life. Meanwhile, I'm finding fellow feeling with Shostakovich, and the compulsory optimism of the Terror years: you must rejoice, you must rejoice. Yeah, I get sick of socialist realism too.
An email from Rami Shal'heveth, Editor of Bli-Panika, asking may he translate 'The Tomb Wife' for a Hebrew sfwebzine. Yes, of course. I'm not in favour of imposing cultural isolation on Israel; hope I'm right. I would hate to be seen as encouraging racism and sanctioning the inhuman treatment of Gaza's helpless population. Try this site for a fresh view