Entangled life
I haven’t read it (Martin Sheldrake) yet but have bought it for a friend.
Even so the metaphor of the mycorrhizal network and pain of separation can hardly be escaped.
Every time I pick something up to ‘sort it’, in other words, to get rid of it, the whole (somewhat limited) balance of my equilibrium is upturned and just a book opens up a whole plane of landscape of the past.
This was the year of his unexpected win in a Tory stronghold.
A time of optimism long past.
The extent of just one tiny corner of the vestiges of his voracious reading is here, alongside some of his own vestiges still in a box waiting for mine to join him again.