Morning musings

A magpie hops from branch to branch of the gangly silverbirch outside my window, in vain seeking refuge from the driving snow in its leafless web. From this vantage point I see the roofs of four buildings now iced with soft white edges. The sound of a snow shovel scraping at the ground is coming from beyond my vista, which is limited to the upper regions and the vast sky, just a hint darker than the white roofs. Lying here, propped up by my elbow, the computer screen is fuzzy since I rubbed out a lens in an early morning yawn. It now lies soaking in its solution tub. I imagine you working from home on a day like today. You are perched at the kitchen table, a concentrated look on your face as you sort through your inbox, your phone ringing and being rung from time to time. Mug of half finished coffee still steaming on its coaster. There might be some background noise. Radio, perhaps. The buzz of low voices detailing the local and not-so-local events, the familiar tunes of overplayed advertisements chiming in with some unconscious predictability.

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;


The 'coffee spoon' line came to mind so I looked it up. I'm drinking a 2 spoon coffee made in the Italian coffee maker. Not Italian coffee though. Peter Larsens. There is a magnificent Italian foodshop close by. They make homemade pesto, 22DKK for 100g. Homemade olive tapenade, artichoke pesto, olive bread, foccacia bread, pasta. They stock wonderful cheeses, make and sell slices of savory tarts for 14DKK (they will even warm it up for you), they have a deliriously good looking selection of cake slices which one day I will give into. They greet you and see you off with a happy "ciao" and a "grazie" and sometimes a bun of olive bread will find its way silently into the brown paper bag.

I started a new book last night. It was an unexpected present from an uncle and his wife. It's been many years since I last saw them. The book is by Sebastian Barry. The Irish (maybe Irish-American) writer. So far, I think the one word endorsements of "Extraordinary" - Daily Telegraph, and "Moving and beautiful" - Irish Times, are a bit off. At least up to page 54, to which a few word review might read: "Depressing" or "Do Not Read if Suicidal". Perhaps it will perk up, but given our 89 year old protagonist has declared her intention on page one to kill herself in order to end her grief - I'm not too hopeful. I don't mean to suggest that I only like 'happy' stories, no no no. Dark and grim, bleak and scary can make wonderful fictive landscapes to lose oneself in. I am a philosophy graduate after all, and so have spent wonderful years pondering if there is something to the nothingness. Poetry and philosophy and great literature can capture enormous things in short sentences. It thrills me, that idea. Like a spider silk fishing line catching a whale. "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." That's all you need to capture so much - mountains of books have been written - are still being written - trying to capture what that one uncomplicated line does. Not only that, but for those who can see themselves in that line; it elates that life and makes it special, it turns humdrum into magnificent poetry, and gives meaning and pride to the coffee spooners of this world. I've finished my 2 spoon coffee now.

I'm going out to photograph the snow.