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I will order another coffee, in a few minutes, but for now I am indulging myself with the peaceful quiet. Even within myself I am almost peaceful, almost quiet; yet still alive to beauty, to the beauty of people and their places, I have just watched a video of my grandson Thomas, singing happy birthday to me, from his holiday cottage in Wales.

Earlier I had the luxury of five snoozes, each with its own set of dreams, each with its own trail back to my youth, each with its own knowledge, good knowledge, that another snooze could so easily follow.

I am at Carsington Water in the Peak District, it is very cold, and very beautiful. I walked around, took photographs; through the stones on stone island, took photographs; of the birds, in the water, and in the sky.

A second cup of coffee, but no second cake, those days are over. Sunlight falls onto my table, and reflects brightly from the aluminium chairs and tables outside on the patio. The sun forges a thick, bright and solid stripe, straight down the water towards me; I am reminded of the song Do You Realise by The Flaming Lips.

I thought that today I might write something deep and meaningful, for I am reading Paul Auster's The Invention of Solitude at the moment. It is a memoir; the first part being about his father and their relationship. He claims to have had little rapport with his dad, and I think that mine, and my father's relationship, apart from a few sparkling moments, was much the same. I couldn't tell you much about my father's psyche, or what he thought his raison d'être was.

Suddenly, a slight darkness comes to mind, and I declare that today I will not try to remember anything that I don't want to remember. I will try to stay on the path of the ethereal light.

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Long shadows
Ice cold, zero degrees
The waves lap
I shoot a short video
Later I might listen
To British Sea Power
Remember
Being sat by your side
On our sofa-settee
Watching their video

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The cafe, all to myself
It is how I hoped it would be
Except there is no verandah
Overlooking the rippling water
The coffee is neat, and the cake is ok
It isn't brilliant, but it could be

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Big blue sky
Golden, Tate & Lyle, sunlight
The farmer, with his muck-spreader
Has been here before me
To the top of the hill
Long shadows, dry stone walls
A caravan in a cold cold field

Down the hill
Round the corner
To see that long stretch of water
To the maker of puddings and cakes
Stones, and walls, and geometric columns
He strolls past fire pits with frozen fingers
Talks of snow and ice, beside expectant geese

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One day, by the water, by the woods
Trying hard not to think
Of being beside the sea, on the beach

To drink in the nothing of nothingness
Silent in these silent times
Of no one here to share the day, or night

It is a chosen celebration, a rehearsal of sorts
Force beyond the force
Which settles, without thought, for the status quo

So with a pen, and a pencil, and a closed
Or ever so slightly open mind
Let the weather join in, and the love be with you

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