The bird wing.
19.59pm ( sat at the table in the front room at home)
The wings black feathers clung on to the spindly bone. A crows wing perhaps. A boy child found the remnants and walked hunched over clasping one boney fleshy bit between two sticks whilst calling to his mother to look look look what I found. You really wouldn’t want to handle it with your hands. I wondered who had killed the crow, its usually the crow that is seen picking of the carcass of others.
Naoise climbed right to the top of the frame and clung to the top. He kept annoying his friend by kicking his head. I turned my back. I cannot watch as he balances precariously. I cannot stand it when he winds up his friends. There is only so much chastising I can do. It is better to ignore the bad and praise the good.
The clouds shifted across the hills in puffy balls and red stripes and blue patches and grey. It wasn’t raining. Its warmer.
I dropped Naoise off, just in time before the last bell. He walked in, fluffy hood up. He walked in slowly, slowly, slowly.
I bent over the tarmac to record the days images. A dad jokingly asks if I am looking for money on the ground. Then he asks what it is I am doing. I briefly explain. Its strange that I have been performing the same ritual for almost a year, but it is only now that people are starting to question what I am up too. Maybe no one really notices.
I admire the cat painting his son has made. He corrects me, not a cat a fox.
At home I sort through the piles or recycling and fill the car with stuff for the dump. Its a very dull and boring job. I call at the bank on the way. I get to the studio by late morning and manage to complete the drawings for my commission. One set is good enough. There are always little mistakes, a drawing that could be done better. A line that could be more subtle. A form that isn’t quite balanced. I am not a computer. I am a hand and an eye and a line tracing marks to suggest fictional bodies on paper.
I speak to my studio colleague about my failed job search. We talk about rejection and how I should not take it personally. I know this. I know, but its hard to lift the spirits again and again. Making, drawing, thinking visually helps. I can do. Just do.
Pleased that Naoise was awarded star of the day. Its lovely that his good has been noticed. I took him and his friend to football. Naoise did’nt want to play and explored the exercise bike and the drinks and chocolate machines instead.
Dropped off the shopping for my elderly friend, made myself a cup of tea and kept him company a while. He seems a little better today.
The walls of the house are paper thin. I hear the neighbour making a fuss of her dog. Naoise is being difficult. He is just getting out of the shower. Its far to late. Far too late. Naoise starts asking for screen time. I am sick of him being like Mike TV. He needs extracting from the screen.
Naoise and P are arguing with each other. Its horrid to hear. All calm again. I always have to sneak some writing time in, its hard when the family are up. I will be required to read the Moomins soon. We need to get through the November book before its December.