Monday, February 15, 2010

16th February

Outside, a grass-cutting-machine drones like a giant bee and a lonely far-off bird sings; just next door, a child cries, a mother shouts, and a phone rings; on the page before me Carrol's Walrus and the Carpenter still speak of cabbages and kings; but I, skittish, cannot concentrate on any of these things, because I am thinking of you and wishing you were here.

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