Dear office dweller
You may have noticed a peaceful patch of distant blue through the window, or a tiny triangle of light that managed to sneak into the upper right corner of the stationary cupboard, or a strange instant of peace just as your hand reached down for a door knob, or the warmth that a mailed message of beauty spread through your cramped legs, or the lovely colours that Susan from finance has chosen to wear today, or the wonderful clarity of the sunshine after you turn away from your computer screen, or a ghastly yet quite unexpectedly interesting quirk you notice about some stiff ’s facial geography, or a completely unprofessional moment of honesty that, for a split-second, nobody knows how to react to, or the pangolin in the canteen, or a sudden realisation – a thought that is pristinely there before you – of being immeasurably powerful and calm and above all this nonsense?
Well that was me.
I just dropped by to say hello. All my love,
Dear city dweller
Do you remember when you placed your cheek against the warm bristly flanks of a living cow? Do you remember when you dressed up as an bunny and performed a play for your friends on a makeshift stage built in the woods? Do you remember when you sat under an upside down tea-tree, drying out in the attic, twirling slowly above you and throwing its orbiting fractal shadow over the candle-lit ceiling? Do you remember when you made elderberry champagne from the berries that grew beneath your window? Do you remember when you rested naked on your spade, muscles singing, and then showered under the warm water of the watering hose? Do you remember when you sat having a shit on the side of a wide empty hill, and the donkey, which you hadn’t fed yet, came up and nodded its head, oddly huge, against you? Do you remember noticing how the wild flowers came in waves as the seasons passed? Do you remember walking back from the well at the end of the day, swinging your buckets in big loping arcs as liquid golden light fringed the grass? Do you remember how surprised you were when you first ate a minute-old well-loved pea? Do you remember seeing your lover sitting on the roof in the melancholy moonlight, so perfectly clear, and strange? Do you remember watching a clear stream breaking on mountain rocks, feeling your heart stirring in glad satisfaction at being, ‘ah yes,’ at home?
Do you remember?
Or are you in your office, and your flat, and your shop, and your classroom, when these things seem a long, long time ago?
So listen. I won’t be here for much longer. Please come and live with me, because I love you and miss you.