online: 11 december 2011 modified: 10, 11 december 2011 10 december 2011 a sunny afternoon
city forest
...a tiny boy on his own walks slowly while propelling a football across the grass... while two men with three larger boys play an elementary yet sophisticated game of football between coats on the ground to mark the goals.... what a worldwide convention is this in which just four objects marking goals... (and the skilled actions of both tall men and small boys)... can improvise an ordered yet unpredictable game which people of very different ages can enjoy wherever there is grass or open space ... and a ball...
...today this informal game is taking place in a city forest close to a neo-classic mansion... on a playing field surrounded by trees while above is a small but noisy aeroplane that is perhaps also giving pleasure to one or two people who have the necessary money and qualifications to go flying this saturday afternoon...
...and this diary entry... (the first for a week or so)... this is my own convention... shared by many people writing in public in short electronic distance of each other though situated anywhere there are people and computernets and the ability to spell on a keyboard... though with freedom to improvise spelling and grammar... as in speaking or handwriting... but not as in printed books (which have to be manufactured in quantity as identical products)...
...the men and boys are still playing football contentedly while an elderly couple pause near me and talk to each other before turning round and going back the way they came... and with that change of mind and direction perhaps altering their lives quite completely... or not...
...as i note that i remember consulting the second hand of my watch to determine which of two ways to walk today... when i realised that the effect of such small decisions can be as profound or as trivial as any... (though i'm reluctant to label any action with adjectives of value until afterwards)...
...and now as my right hand gets cold in the wintry air i clothe it with an electric glove and am surprised at how easy it is to touch the right lettetd with afiger thats halfhidden in kitting!
...[i meant to write 'letters with a finger that's half hidden in knitting'... and in fact i made 6 mistakes]...
...but to look up from these thoughts and this process to see again (or to recompose in my brain)... the green and brown scene before me... the grass and the trees... and the presence of a white dog who inspects the smells of my shoes or of the ground where they're resting .. and the colossal variety of all the things that comprise this or any scene whatever... far more in what we call nature i suppose than in any such writing or theory...
...that man with white hair... between trees... in the distance... what on earth is he doing or thinking... and what variety has led him to continue his life in this way as it is and no other... at which (at the felt onset of nonsense) i stand up and return to edit this on a laptop and eat...
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