I was discombobulated yesterday, losing my temper, getting ratty and tipping over a glass of water, was it the moon? Is it wholly full yet? I thought it was to be the 28th, tomorrow. It was glorious though, walking in its light, and the way it shines into my studio and on the roofs of the houses of the town making them silver.
People were out while I walked. There was the lady with the bag, a young lad on a bike riding along the pavement and a man with a camera and tripod photographing the moon. Lights were on in students’ rooms – I saw a girl in a downstairs living room (the one with the billiard table) reading from a laptop, and another girl with a ponytail watching TV in bed, her walls covered in photographs.
I walked on the Perygyl, the wooden slats made white by the moon. I stood at the end and saw a falling star and made a wish.
The sweet peas have been potted and sit on the windowsill downstairs waiting to live. I hold my breath for them.