16:23 playing field - this was the scene (some years ago) of a most relevant and memorable semi-fiction, such as i hope this can become :
i see in reality, as we say, about six moving figures in the distance and i presume they are people...
...in imagination (or as wishes) they could be illusions, robots, sculptures, toys, for i am assuming or guessing what they are - not seeing the detail of facial expression, voice, or gesture - all i can see with my less than perfect sight, and at the length of this football pitch away, are various stationary or moving patches of colour that approximate to what i recognise as 'people' ... 'one of the main manifestations of life', i imagine...
...what's happening? is this going to be fact or fiction? type the fingers, afterwards...
...the sky is grey, the wind speed has dropped, i hear traffic in the distance (all these are also inferences) and as i write the sun emerges through a gap in grey cloud to shine on the western surfaces of trees, grasses and the so-called people (and the left side of this one, for i am facing northward) ...and now the sun has gone and we are again in cloud-shadow...
...the sunlight returns, this time more strongly, coming and going like fame, making those it reaches more visible and putting the others into relative obscurity...
...crows fly northwards towards the tall trees of Kenwood (where i imagine they sleep) ... a thin black dog inspects and snuffs around my shoes while its owner calls it away... and occasional jumbojets fly overhead, containing people as unconscious of these events on the ground as we are of the thoughts and events in the plane ... a police van moves quickly eastward (on the heath they usually move at walking pace so 'something is happening' we say or infer - assuming crime or other emergency to be more real or alive than is 'everyday life')... but none of us know more than fragments of what is happening here, or there, or in the totality of body, mind, playing field, in the thoughts of the millions in flight, or in this city or in all cities, let alone in what we do not recognise or cannot even imagine throughout the world or the universe if that is what it is...
...my nose began to dribble in the cold and i had to stop writing to get my handkerchief... and now i get up to walk home...
...as i walked back i climbed a steep slope beneath trees each weighing several tons which one day will certainly fall but not today, and i re-entered the city through streets i've not walked before, and between bus journeys i made a rare call at a global supermarket, if that is what it was, where i bought some out-of-season strawberries from Morocco and a fruit i did not recognise, but enjoyed.
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