Today I went to The Shop, by wi-fi and Live Boxes and lines: Paris, London and on to the Gulf to do some thinking and planning for a friend with a client in the U.A.E. I visted museums, offices, hotels, oil fields and immigrant labour issues, aspirations for global respect; I watched video of a place by a blue sea, building site after building site, cranes tingling in sunlight, pushed by a financial wealth easy enough to quantify, impossible to comprehend.
Here in The Valley I could only find time to go outside four times during the day: to see the dawn; to unload my circular saw lent to a friend and returned in the back of a pick-up truck; to visit the orchard for signs of snow damage, frost burn and bud; to play with my daughter on her bicyle - the first time without stabilisers.
I had seen a butterfly, the first of the year. Before I could tell her she told me she had seen one too, down at her den. An Emperor I think, by what she said. We must make sure to fill our pockets with coins, for round here the man with money in his pocket when he hears the first cuckoo of the year will have a good harvest and a full cellar during the year ahead.
As the sun went down she fell, picked herself up, and rode. Round and round in circles until the sun set over the mountains to the west.
How easy to miss, how sad that moment is gone, what chance to be here to see it.
As to the rest of the world, I didn't open the newspaper. It still turns and so do the wheels on a pink bike in the Auvernge.