Of Day

I close my eyes and listen to the church bells reverberate through the city — the air, the street, the park; the hearts.Usually when I go into a bookshop, I find myself looking at all the books. Often, for nothing in particular, but rather to see what is new. Who knows what I might find; what stories might stand out today. My time spent wandering around the walls of words today, however, was characterised more by writing than by reading. The books were my anchor. The word was in my spirit. My disposition was to capture what I heard and saw and felt; to let my thoughts flow onto a new page.I took notes on art galleries, places where we can feel both oriented and lost; where we can discover and ponder discovery; where we can let the present pass while considering the past and the future; where the colours of Monet and the shadows of Rembrandt exist a few rooms away. What does it mean that I can see Rembrandt and walk through a few rooms to see Monet?I realised I was lost, not in place…