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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


10.06.17

Last night B made soup, fish cooked in milk, with lots of white pepper, which we ate with steamed spuds and even more white pepper. Afterwards we attended a mass for a local boy, who had been run over and left behind, mistaken for a dog. Hubs insisted I had met him once or twice, in the pub. He was in hospital, in a bad way as they say, and the driver, a 40-year-old father, had aged overnight. An atheist, I didn't know what to do in mass, "Peace be with you" stuck in my throat as I shyly shook my neighbours' hands. While the hope of the faithful is so alien to me, it is at the same time poignant and moving to see the community gather in this way.

Later on, I went for a walk around the town, my first in a month. As I ambled up this way and that way, passing shadows that greeted me by name, the full moon followed, smiling its vulpine smile above the black fields, the singing river, the great broken silhouette of the castle. Hello, all of this. How much I love you.





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