After the rain had gone, it was the midnight clear, stars’ fires just above the tree line from where I stood. The sky prepping blue. I had woken up every hour in the the early morning, willing myself that there would be no news of anything significant to write home about. We have had too many early morning startles these past years, I breathed. Today, a visceral response to the orange makeup, the words unpresidential, lighting fires everywhere. It’s like there is an anarchist living in the most famous house in the world. In plain sight, cheating again, claiming fraud and early victory where none was yet in sight. Later, we ventured forth under the canopy of blue sky, the sun feeling warm. Everyone on some kind of last minute mission, before the shutdown, to catch the shops. Over night, passers-by suddenly anxious, launching into the road to keep away, dangers lurking seemingly everywhere, the carriers of a plague. It was unsettling but this morning we have been saved by grace, the sunlight, freshly poured, the earth buzzing with the sound of humming.


We walked into the wind, sun crushed, scarred light barely landing. It always ruffles, dents the equilibrium. Can you believe it: as I waited, a seagull used the roof of my car to plop in on the day, the winged pilot skidding and squawking, bird traffic control nowhere in sight. What a clatter and so rude. Human traffic was on the move, a last gasp before the national lockdown. Cars filled the lanes like the next tomorrow is a month off, our lives put on hold. The evidence of the panic buy, toilet roll shelves empty. We discussed the psychology of the reasons for mad dash sales of bog roll. The need to control was the answer – when everything else is out of control. Not sure if it was just me but the air felt like end days, Thursday being the jump off point into some kind of rabbit hole. The chance to see Alice improbable as there were strong rumours she had moved Down Under.