New claim to fame: moving from bed to front-room floor most afternoons, placing my head where the sun moons over its favourite carpet patch. For a while I follow its trajectory, face turning this way, that, lapping up light as if posing for a sluggard’s role in a film I’ll never see. It’s a regular in-door roam, and now I’m filled with wishing: garden (I do swing by occasionally), gallery, bookshop, ocean, mountain-top.
When you’re supine behind is under, and in front above. I want up up up.