I always try and sit at the window at this time of the evening when the sun turns all the houses across the road golden and the blackbird is singing his heart out. No photo will ever capture it so instead I have photographed this box which I only actually looked at after I had emptied out my groceries today.
I’on Swamp.
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In Anna Wiener’s New Yorker piece “How Perfectly Can Reality Be Simulated?”
(archived), there is a mention of “the I’on Swamp, a former rice paddy on
the o...
1 hour ago
I am imagining a soundtrack of the singing blackbird, squeaking window sash, thump of the book hitting, and swearing cat.
ReplyDelete... I never actually get the cats LX - they're mainly swearing about being revealed to the birds
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