Notebook
Three August Notes.
Three entries, kept the week the essay would not begin. No corrections.
Note I · 12 August · early evening
An empty beach.
The last two families packed while I was still walking towards them. By the time I reached the tideline they were small dots climbing the dune path. The sea did not notice. The gulls did not notice. For twenty minutes I had , which is a strange kind of wealth — the kind that requires no one to be excluded from it, only for everyone to have already left of their own accord.
I stayed until the light lost interest. Someone had drawn a circle in the wet sand near the water. The tide would take it within the hour. I found this reassuring, though I could not have said why.
Note II · 17 August · afternoon
A tea bowl changing with the season.
The black glaze on the reading table has gone slightly warmer this month. I do not think this is a trick of the light. Some objects seem to hold the season they are currently in; the bowl is more August now than it was in April. In November it will be a different colour again.
I have owned it for six years. It has never once been used for anything. The instructions that came with it explained how to warm it in winter. Nothing was said about the rest of the year. I suspect the rest of the year is the point.
Note III · 24 August · late morning
An empty bench.
I passed the same in the park twice today, an hour apart. The first time it was in bright sun and I did not think about it. The second time it was in shade, and empty in a different way — the kind of emptiness that seems to be waiting for someone specific, though of course it is not.
I did not sit down. I have been trying to notice which invitations I turn down without knowing I am turning them down. This was one of them. Tomorrow I might sit.
Elsewhere in this issue
The Long Afternoon