I have been meaning to write a couple of long posts on dance, art, performance and instead spent much of the day cleaning. My usual enthusiastic approach to cleaning that must be seen to understand how much pleasure it gives me. mmm… well I didn’t mop the floors. That can wait. Surprised though by the amount of hair I shed.

It is raining. A spring rain, long ceaseless, steady, a distant, higher-pitched hiss than the usual of the city is met with a nearer staccato of tiny rivulets. Wind caressing the Poplars also. A crow or some dark, unseen bird nearer still, like the rattle of a grinder.