*to homepage 2.2, and particularly 'the foundation of the foundation

I wait here at the perhaps ancient tumulus for the revival of life (in the full?) as we all know it but seldom experience it, perhaps... this is dangerous ground...

...as i walked on the gravel road through the southern heath something brought my thoughts to Shakespeare... i realised that he writes of all things as if marvellous (i wrote momentous) and all things are both inconsequential and momentous, even kings, and even their least important subjects... (that is a paraphrase of the thought that came to me)... all is momentous, all is inconsequent... the point of the thought was that this is anyone's way to write well: to think of the greatest and the least that can be said or written of each person, thing, or incident... the poetic awareness of the world.

17:30 Parliament Hill. The city lights have just come on - yet all the buildings are still visible in the fading daylight... dark figures silhouetted against the sky are raising tractor kites in the wind... one woman lies down and lets her kite pull her along, sliding on the muddy grass...

Panorama Path. The athletics ground is illuminated with brighter lights than i remember, it looks like a geometric sea or pond of greeness, resembling green water that is surrounded by a brick red running track... though all the lights are on no one is running at present... i see only a single person walking slowly round the track... and i see two or three others, leaning against the fence, silhouetted against the green and the red. The whole scene is astonishing, with the city so extensive beyond the athletics ground right to the horizon, to the east, to the south and to the west...

As i walked away i paused to listen to a single bird (was it a blackbird?) perched in a leafless tree a few metres from me, singing for several minutes... and as i wrote that it flew away.

Such moments.

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