2/6/06 - 4/6/06

Laid low with a ravenous vomiting bug - hallucinating deaths and fate in the early hours, mid fever - shaking sweats - drifting in and out of sleep, stomach spasms and waves of nausea - watching the dawn break - all day body heavy and wasted, barely able to walk - the sun cascades without, tempting all things to wander, but I cannot - I pass the day on the sofa and periodically rise weakly to drink water - dreams of bugs and other biting insects, some microscopic crawling across my skin; of swamps and infectious airborne disease - itches on the skin, the sense of tiny feelers there and mandibles penetrating skin, sucking blood -

The nub of a boat moves along the edges of the Alde; the muddy, silver fringe - gulls rise and Shelduck disturbed - the dumb greyness above settles in for the rest of the day - the boat is cross cruising, showing passengers the habitats; birds like Cormorant atop exposed ancient wood-posts - the moving, hypnotic reeds - what am I looking for when I gaze from this window? Always, something hidden in the landscape and thereby in me; that constant mystery that I have never found or been able to name in all these years - that question, the unidentifiable reason for gazing, is always with me and it means I cannot sit still for long and, say, converse about stuff; I am drawn out there - interrupted, distracted, attracted constantly, without effort - for the secret in the hidden curve where the river turns briefly north - what is there?