A day of physical maintenance, dutiful exercise of one kind and another, my heart not in it. I wrote troubled emails in response to troubled emails. I searched for a passage in a strange novel. I could remember the placement of the passage, lower left side, about a quarter of the way through the book, but I couldn’t find it. As fragile, fleeting, and precious as life is, I have not made much of it today. I gaze out the window at the dark sky and summer light. I take a deep breath and am very still. A crow bothers a plane tree with its racket. A motorcycle rips its way down Lovejoy Street. The bell on the ultra-conservative Anglo-Catholic church that will not countenance women as priests, rings seven times. This moment will not come again.