I am tired. More tired than usual. Doing the chores this morning has wearied me. Now there is writing to do. I try to write authentically, to not posture. Sometimes it flows, other times not. I begun reading Edmund de Waal’s The Hare with the Amber Eyes. I began it years ago in A’s house and then again last week in Yorkshire. I am enjoying it. He writes well, and with ease. A bright man, I think.
