Out of Touch

Not only do I feel out of touch with the landscape in which I now find myself, I feel a little cut off from the world, the world that is obsessing over TV images of tragedy in the Indian Ocean. I obsess a little myself, watching hourly death figures increase on the BBC website, but I’m out of my element here, and we don’t discuss things in quite the same way in front of impressionable children. All my sister’s friends have kids, and they all speak in code, in a move to protect their young from the unspeakable.

But you can’t always do that, as these images, precisely, are showing.

Tomorrow we’re heading south to Boston, a place in which I find myself much more at home. From there I head west again. Dislocating oneself is a useful exercise every once in a while, but I’m hankering for my creek and the oaks I know. Even though it seems we’ve had a lot of water in our neck of the woods too.