The Bad Movement

Yet another phrase that entered my head as I woke. I never know to what they refer but I like that for that. Gift? Possibly. It is written. It is done. Afterwards other ways of tackling it come forward. It is enough. I did my best. Last night I dreamt of a friend, amongst other things. Not a close friend but there is an attachment. We were talking of one of her children. They have all been given biblical names but the one I called him, as did she (did I take the cue from her or vice versa) was wrong. I knew it was wrong in my dream but it was only on waking that I realised what his real name is. I cannot remember the rest, not like the dream from the night before when it all came forward, the immense richness of it – blackened hands, costumes, foreign lands, newly-acquired brothers’ in-law, old-fashioned sweet shops (was it a sweet shop?).

A colder morning than of late with a strong gusting northerly wind. I hear him outside the door preparing to go for his walk. The sky has opened up to blue and even some soon. It’s one of those immense Titian skies.