It had rained just before I went out for my walk and when I got out the air smelled fresh and cleaned through, despite the warmth. It is always good to get out no matter how reluctant I feel beforehand. My legs are still cranky. Perhaps all will be explained on Monday. Rain is forecast for the whole week, so today may be my last drawing day for a bit. I went do to the harbour again yesterday to try out my new dip pen. Some days it doesn’t flow. I know it but I keep going. I stood for a while by the mouth of the bridge watching a woman. She was leaning against the wall and a downpipe, her stick resting against her arm. She appeared to be nodding off. Should I help her? Is she distressed? She didn’t seem to be. Is she drunk? I thought and then felt guilty for thinking so. Her attire was a little garish – snazzy shorts topped with a pink cardi. I couldn’t work out her age – 60 or 70 or maybe younger. I left her in the end, my uncertainty and fear of unwonted intimacy making me passive. It turned the day. I didn’t like myself and consequently my drawings.
Notions of the Taliban and their intentions come through via the news bulletins. So dark. What is to be done? Oh, to be child again, blind to such chaos. Though not all are, are they, Ellen? Think again.
Returning home the sky, behind the National Library was purple. Is that a man-made phenomenon or is it natural?
