the sun is level with your eyes by 2 pm these days, 6 o'clock dark at 3, midnight black by 5 which is, if nothing else, a little disconcerting, a little end-of-days.
other things: the man who plays the wooden piano on the street was here again, rocking slowly in the way that reminds me of ilan in the half-light of thomas; the trees outside my window have arranged their naked pen-and-ink arms almost perfectly in the same kind of natural abstraction as church bells; last week, with jess in coffee-yard, i drank smooth and expensive espresso with a tawny skin on top like agate while i rested my feet high above the floor on the bar of the chair beside me.
If you are still in York, I know which man you mean. I even have a photo of him. All this means that I am now very, very nostalgic. The last time I've seen him, he was playing the main theme from The Piano and it was so, so beautiful.