Great photo Simon, thanks! All the lines, fields, and vortices. I'm seeing some rather similar phenomena at the shore of the Mississippi here daily, where the birds are migrating ducks and geese and the trees are cottonwoods. The lampposts are a bridge carrying the electric light rail, rusting bits of underwater steel cable, and rusting tangles of re-bar in crumbling cement posts. The darkness is much earlier now, far north, but it sings no less. Nay it sings even louder, 'midst living limestone and sand.
I am certain Leonardo travelled to us here and painted the penultimate painting for us the penultimate viewer to complete. It is too often us who travel not, in all our frantic paces, rather than those who went before. ________________________________ From: NetBehaviour <netbehaviour-boun...@lists.netbehaviour.org> on behalf of Simon Mclennan via NetBehaviour <netbehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org> Sent: Sunday, November 15, 2020 12:58 AM To: netbehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org <netbehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org> Cc: Simon Mclennan <mclennanf...@gmail.com> Subject: [NetBehaviour] Aerial view Photo for text https://www.instagram.com/p/CHlvBFsHFCQ/?igshid=q4cgm3xyntbe ‘It’s nay that I dinnae trust unto thee. That exasperating gait, the trellis beard, the floppy coat and purple breeches. Nor the ideas come they as seen, thick ‘n fast, morning fresh, dewy and new-born liken unto ripe baby plum tomatoes or even bunches of the purple grapes that growed as ‘m did right ‘pon they slopes backen up ahint they town.’ She smiled with her eyes at Leonardo, his barrel chest heaving as he mock-puffed out his cheeks in protest, and with a pretence at offence he half lifted himself out of his chair and whistled low and long. ‘By cricket and racquet I’ll burn your barn down! And make sure all the horses are spanking new and jimmy, by jingo right ready and In the chutes all you cowboys and cowgirls!’ They both settled back in their easy chairs, feet up on the fire grate so close to the coals as almost melting their boots and with their hands held out towards the blaze. ‘It’s a rum do chuck I’ll tell yer that and they’ll a nay been friends an gawd alone knows a wot type of exotic basterns they be. Frolic we may - and certainly we haven’t shirked in that field - aha ha ha ha!’ And she chuckled despite herself. ‘Vanya soiled oursens mony a time hey? Crackpot ‘ventures ‘n all dem ‘ting.’ She pulled her boots back a few inches from the fire and adjusted her seat cushions a bit till she was more comfortable. Leonardo da Vinci nodded a few times and mouthed agreement, he smiled. ‘Ahem’ he cleared his throat and looked around at the shadowy room to the sides of them. The orange flames lit the walls throwing their two shadows massively behind them, the shapes moving constantly and dancing as the coals and logs continued to warm up the stones of the slightly dank smelling cottage in whose parlour they reclined so relaxedly. ‘Tomorrow we can reccy up the track and take lunch?’ Leo stroked his beard and nodded. ‘Aye a that we can’ A cat jumped then into Leo’s lap then walked over into B’s lap deciding to settle there, claws beginning to massage her thigh and actually pricking through the denim to make her wince. The purring beginning low and rhythmic as a perfect icing on the cake of the scene - the fire glow, the coals, the growing warmth, the shared moment, the mossy smell of the room and their gently steaming clothes. Both were experiencing a very mild fever, but so slight as to feel fitting after the long adventures of the day - the moors, the big grey cloudy skies, the tramping through the heather, tangled in win bushes, finding paths through boggy ground, walking up a few mountains, windy vistas of rivers winding, valleys below with village smoke, church towers, farm buildings, fields in nice natural patterns quite higgledy piggledy laid out to regard at your pleasure, nice stone barns and field houses, dotted sheep and cows of brown and white or black and white, distant villages and very distant smoke of towns, crows, plovers, peewits, oyster catchers, one owl of the barn type - flapping in silent low slow motion beats across from the fence post and disappearing behind the stone wall - rabbits in plenty, tabby cats far from any houses out hunting with their nice tabby stripy coats with bits of barn straw clinging, all the light drizzle, some mist, dead trees here and there starkly white in the fields and - in short - all the good meanderings of the rather full and satisfyingly chilly winter day. And so they sat and dozed by the fire and thought of nothing much but sleepy parlours and all that, cats and rain and flickering shadows. They were trembling bodies, slight vessels adorning the pliant cloth of the moment, the slippery material, the rain drenched backs of those times and although aware they were not too aware at all or they played catch-up with themselves and the days that they were given. S. Sent from my spyphone
_______________________________________________ NetBehaviour mailing list NetBehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org https://lists.netbehaviour.org/mailman/listinfo/netbehaviour
