Finally, it is raining. The sky has been heavy with rain all week. I could smell it in the air through the open windows, and now it is pit-patting the stones outside from rolling grey clouds. The air is cold and damp and blissful.

I read a sentence today in a writer’s notebook – an image of a man smiling as if rain were falling on his face.

The fireworks yesterday were rather pathetic. That’s all that can be said about that.

Saturday. A good day. We woke early and pulled on clothes, half awake, to drink in the cool morning air and buy a newspaper from the general store on the other side of the hill. After a luxurious shower (the kind you can only have at the weekend when there is no rush), I put my feet up and read the paper while listening to Brian Sibley’s Ain’t No Mickey Mouse Music online (repeat of the BBC Radio 2 programme from last night). It was delightful – I’ve had Whistle While You Work, Never Smile at a Crocodile (did you know the song was never actually in the movie?), and the entire musical score of Beauty and the Beast and my very favorite, The Little Mermaid, in my head all day. (Better by far than the usual trash that sticks in your mind).

This afternoon we had a cup of tea in Effings, the most delightful delicatessen/restaurant in Exeter (described best by their own tagline, “Fine Foods for Fun”), and then spent the afternoon in Waterstones. Oh, what bliss to sit on the floor beneath shelves of books thumbing through everything from photography guides to philosophy tomes to poetry and writer’s notebooks. My purchase of the day was Christopher Meyer’s DC Confidential, which I’ve had my eye on for some time. And to make myself feel better about the lack of other purchases I came home and added a couple to my Amazon Wish List.

Feeling inspired, we went to dinner at Prezzo and ate mounds of pasta.

A good day.


And here’s a poem from my bookstore browsing:

Matins ~ Louise Gluck (from Wild Iris)

Not the sun merely but the earth
itself shines, white fire
leaping from the showy mountains
and the flat road
shimmering in early morning: is this
for us only, to induce
response, or are you
stirred also, helpless
to control yourself
in earth's presence -- I am ashamed
at what I thought you were,
distant from us, regarding us
as an experiment: it is
a bitter thing to be
the disposable animal,
a bitter thing. Dear friend,
dear trembling partner, what
surprises you most in what you feel,
earth's radiance or your own delight?
For me, always
the delight is the surprise.