October 16th, 2021


I'd been carrying a pebble around in my pocket for several weeks. I found it on our drive- and I've no idea how it got there. It was a chip of flint, irregular, its edges smoothed by water, with a couple of facets that exposed its glassy, black heart. I love flint. The other day I dropped it on the shingle beach at St Leonard's because that seemed like the right place for it. I like to think of it remaining there, for thousands and thousands of years, getting run over by the sea among all the other pebbles until it finally turns to sand.


I dreamed I was in my mother's bedroom- and and it was full of spirits. Some of the spirits were attending her as she lay in bed and some of them were attending me. Hers were mostly women, mine were mostly men. I thought, "This is splendid. I can finally see spirits. This is how things ought to be." They weren't diaphanous or ghostly but quite solid-seeming people; with strong, individuated faces. The ones who were attending me introduced themselves- and I wish I could remember who they all were, but I can't except that they were from the past- and one of them was a Roman- not a stereotypical Roman in toga or military garb but a peasant farmer who could have been from almost any period- in rough, practical, working clothes...