A slow day in this light-drenched room. I was glad of the chance to wash my hair, wash my clothes. Dancing by myself in tiny spaces conjured all the zoom classes of the year of the plague.
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Late in the day I ventured out in this seemingly mellow neighbourhood and walked straight by another person’s tragedy. Police, fire trucks, and the burnt hulk of a beautiful Victorian dwelling. Yellow tape. Bystanders and neighbours gathered in huddles. The juxtaposition was just as Auden (and the Old Masters) observed: incommensurable. It could have been a film set. It was not. The likelihood of it being a race-based hate crime is high. The history is ugly /missionlocal.org/2024/05/fire-chars-home-of-black-dog-walker-earlier-targeted-by-racist-threats/
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