Sky Flowers

The saturday after bonfire night. This has always been a day each year that has served me well. Some of my greatest moments have been spent on this night. It holds a certain resonance for me to say the least.

This year has been different. The most remarkable thing to happen this year was. I was walking along the cut this morning at 5 am. A drunken women approached me saying "Who are you?" I didn't know how to respond. As she drew closer she simply said. "Sorry, I thought you were someone, but you're not."

These are things that have made this night special. In my own experience, they matter.

Sigur Rós - Starálfur



Blá nótt yfir mér, horf-inn út um glugann, minn með hendur, faldar undir kinn.
Hugsum daginn minn í dag og í gær.
Wonderful.

This time last year, I spent this night alone for the first time for a long time. Reading On The Road by Anton Chekhov. It really gave off that sense of desolate hope that this time of year brings.

"She was silent. When the sledge started, and had to go around a huge snowdrift, she looked back at Liharev with an expression as though she wanted to say something to him. He ran up to her, but she did not say a word to him, she only looked at him through her long eyelashes with little specks of snow on them.

Whether his finely intuitive soul were really able to read that look, or whether his imagination deceived him, it suddenly began to seem to him that with another touch or two that girl would have forgiven him his failures, his age, his desolate position, and would have followed him without question or reasonings. He stood a long while as though rooted to the spot, gazing at the tracks left by the sledge runners. The snowflakes greedily settled on his hair, his beard, his shoulders. . . . Soon the track of the runners had vanished, and he himself covered with snow, began to look like a white rock, but still his eyes kept seeking something in the clouds of snow."

I'm a sucker for the winter. This made me think of a quote by Whittier: "For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been'."

Stopping writing before this turns into a self-indulgent literary essay. Winter's coming so I'll leave it with these...

Feist + Bon Iver - Train Song (Vashti Bunyan)



Vashti Bunyan - Train Song (Original)



Grizzly Bear + Feist - Service Bell