On being present.
We see the need to be present with who we are, living the dream of road trips and camping by a river, with the Chenin blanc wrapped in the cooler box.
Perfectly chilled, horizons wide in written passages of poetry and prose and a breath-taking view of a world, far away from the consequences of Boris buses with wild claims, demagogues (the other blonde) wanting to turn back the clock and messianic messages of fiction trying to re-create a rose-coloured-spectacled future.
Our little place on the planet, guy-roped to the earth, seems more in tune with what is important.
Dystopia is in novels and in the White House or Downing Street, not in this place that we call our heaven on earth by a river that eases its way gently past us as it has done for ever.