Tuesday, 19 October 2010

My end of October

Yesterday, I was driving down Princess Parkway. Leaves were falling from the trees on either side of the road. It seemed as if there were scatterings of rusty leaves filling the whole sky and drifting down towards me. It was so beautiful.

I sat on the settee in a strangers house. She recently experienced a breakdown and is slowly trying to piece herself together so she can care for her children again. We talked and smiled, and she told me things, and at a certain point she said 'That's the first time I've told anyone that.' I'm always astonished by people's courage.

I've listened a lot this week and it is still only Tuesday.

On Sunday, I baked a gorgeous apple and raspberry crumble made with delicious apples picked from Fiona and Nula's tree and autumn raspberries picked from my allotment. I shared the crumble with the girls at work with lashings of Devon custard.

I've cried. There was this man. I spent some time with him, and was growing to like him. He gave me a ride on the back of his bike and made me feel as if my breath was whooshing out of my chest sometimes when he looked at me. But, after he stayed the night last week, he didn't call. And now I know he's not going to call.

I dug out a heap of weeds and just kept putting the spade into the ground and turning the soil over, and digging again. It was a damp day and it kept spitting rain. I came home with earth on my face, my hands, my arms, my clothes, my hair. I was dead cold and my hands ached. But it felt good because I know that whenever I want I can go down there and dig and everything always feels a little better.

I sat in candlelight on my big brown settee with my roasted beetroot, roast sweet potatoes, my home-made meat and vegetable pie. I listened to James Yorkston, Meg Baird, Nick Drake, Bon Iver.

It's been months and months of not writing, but I'm here again, pen, paper, ideas. My head is filled with this character, this place and time that is so far away from me, but which has become so familiar. I almost have a story.


sonia said...

that was such a vivid and beautiful blog. I'm glad you are full of ideas - I love the way you write.

Claire Massey said...

Such a beautiful, beautiful post. I'm sorry for your sadness but so glad to hear you have pen in hand and an almost story (whenever things are horrible I always think, well at least I can write something, and it makes me feel better. I think writers are lucky to have that).

Rachel Fox said...

Big hug.

Hoping the reason you know he isn't going to call isn't that you just buried him in the allotment! Unless he really deserved it of course.


Megan said...

Thank you Annie for sharing this, wise and lovely and writing again - wonderful
(stupid man)