I take with me some Japanese Calligraphy paper, the charcoal I made from Willow and Alder and some waxy old stumps from a bag of crayon debris… all blackened on the skin but inside the oily grime is the colour of yellow gold and more… and so I rub the Gréine and Thoir and then Sun and East – a material test and it seems to work, gathering sticky yellow blobs with grimy edges on the fine white paper…I tuck away the rubbings and head into the Glen, walking the slope towards the yellow bench I stop to take a shot, repeating last night’s photo when, finding the gate locked, I had to double back through the park now flooded by street lighting… and here today I am surprised by a fish on the grass… another trout, so far from the river, something unusual – a spillage of gut coloured pearls – roe, here where I lingered last night… intimacy with this place means co-ordinates have a way of aggregating in charged clusters of happenings, callings, there for me to hear all at once and one by one.
