It was still dark when I woke up. I think Héloïse may have had a nightmare but she was obviously sound asleep again. I went through cycles from this point on, in and out of dream sequences, each one stranger and more intangible. Then I heard the birds. Not one or two but dozens, all clamouring
mad and intricate
the spring furies
They’ve returned, finally.
We talked about this when I was on Valerie Jardin’s show a few weeks ago: how we get to rediscover the songs of birds each year. The way they mark time, subtle sonic markers altering our reality. I’ve never known anything else, never lived where birds keep on singing day after day; I wonder how it would affect my perception of the world...to never know the depths of silence winter brings. To never know the lightness of renewal.
Yesterday evening the sun came out from behind clouds. I grabbed the X100F and stepped out, longing for a simple act of acknowledgement. Then again this morning. I’m working on a new conference these days and realizing I may have strayed from what matters most. I’ve decided to go back to the X100, day to day, as much as possible—in fact it’s all I’ll be bringing to the UK next month.