I fell

Very heaven

I went out for a ride along the creek just before sunset. It was so lovely.

On the way out and on the way back I stopped at the house with all the cats and kittens. Obviously there is something not right going on in there and also it is not cool of me to be standing outside someone's house every evening miaowing and taking pictures, but at the same time, I counted seventeen cats and as Wordsworth memorably said when he came across a similar setup, 'Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven!'

Next time I go there I won't take any more pictures. But I think I might maybe bring a tin of tuna. I need to make friends with a kitten, and I am not proud and I don't care if it's a brief and temporary friendship driven entirely by food. Just wanna make eye contact with one of those exquisite little people, and pat him or her for a minute.


In between kitten perving stops I fell off my bicycle. It was pure clumsiness and I was not hurt very much. In a way it was fortunate that it was my bike I fell off, because I actually fell creekwards off the path and rolled a little distance down the hill, which was clothed in long, soft drifts of dry grass, but I managed to grab onto the bike, by that point lying on the ground with its wheels spinning, and prevented myself from rolling directly down into the water as would probably have occurred if I had just fallen without warning down the hill whilst walking along the path and the bike hadn't been there to hold on to. Merri Creek water quality is much improved of late and the evening was warm, but I did feel that the whole episode had been exciting enough without the added drama of a watery finish.

I scrambled back up to the path and my body was surging with adrenalin so I sat on a suspiciously conveniently placed bench for half an hour, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and appreciating the rising moon and general prospect.

William Gilpin observed, in his Three Essays on the Picturesque, that Picturesque beauty is the kind of beauty which looks agreeable in a picture.  He really did

 The path was unusually deserted this evening and no persons from Porlock came to disturb my reverie. I broke a longstanding personal rule and sat still in a lonely place with my earphones in. I was too jangled for vigilance. I am ashamed of this but I have been listening to Simon & Garfunkel a little bit recently. I don't know if the things I like (some great songs, perfect vocal definition and clarity) are likeable enough to outweigh the things I really can't bear (some dreadful songs, a lot of hideous, muddy, clumsy overproduction). The music helped, though. After a while I was able to get myself home.

Before I got in the shower I put on the Eurythmics record with Miracle of Love on it. I was washing my hair in the cool and gentle water and listening to that song and suddenly I was overwhelmed with emotion. It felt like that glassy bubble of pain inside had broken free of its moorings, and risen up, inexorably. I crumpled forward, gasping a little, and felt the tears spring into my eyes.  It was just a moment, a moment, a glimpse of release.