Thoughts and cycling from Manchester to Rome in 2023
I’m imagining a surreal world that I’ll call WedNinSepTwe because that’s the date I started to imagine this weird world. Most Imaginarians would pronounce it wɛdˈnɪsɛpˈtwɛ but the beauty of a conjectural planet is that you can call it anything you like.
The weather has improved for today only or so we were told. It has been such a long time since we’ve seen 24C here in Dublin that I headed to Clontarf and Dollymount Strand on North Bull Island to take some coastal photographs.
Who knows what ‘normal’ activities will be after this time of pandemic has passed? Who knows how to chart the path to an unknowable future from an uncertain present and a disputed past? Who knows how to prioritise public health and economic performance?
A reader asked about a photo in my recent article about a shrew I met while walking in London. The photo was originally posted to WhatsApp, a great tool that I use to broadcast photos and the odd note to attest to my continuing safe progress, remaining both vertical and mentate. Cold Blooded is another photo from the same wet walk.
We lived in Los Angeles for a couple of years, a decade before the devastating Northridge earthquakes rolled out from a huge slip on a hitherto undetected fault.
Our first home was in the foothills of the fault-bounded San Gabriel Mountains. The office was close to the Raymond Fault. Despite such proximity to future earthquake epicentres, we never experienced any severe ground shakes though the potential for them lurked large in our subconscious.
A few weeks ago, I took you on an allegorical journey from my gut to the soil. I hoped to make the point that there are many small forces that shape our world and whose impact on our lives is very often overlooked. You are breathing as you read this. We all take our autonomic breathing for granted until we can’t. The breathing happens unnoticed until it’s hard to do. Small forces, likewise, do their thing whether appreciated or not.
