Picos Gemeos

Icy autumn has arrived; we have lit the fireplace.

The little angels, accustomed to sleeping in a corridor by the laundry area, have been brought in. I took pity on them and let them sleep with me these past two days. If by sleep you mean the two of them lying in the middle of the bed, my body precariously on the edge.

I sweep leaves in the morning then work on translations in the afternoon. I can now make bread off the top of my head. Today, I made some banana bread.

I can go days without saying much.

He wakes up to the smell of coffee and the sound of his boyfriend in the kitchen frying pancakes and bacon. After they are done with breakfast, he looks outside and thinks: “it’s a writing day.”

He types handwritten notes for a few hours then showers. As a reward, he gives himself a walk through Victoria Park.

He stops to eat a bagel on a bench facing the pond. Each tree warmed by autumnal light begs to be photographed. A passing old man watches a young couple kissing in a rowboat.

One day, he realises, he will only have memories.

Springtime, he brings up the bucket inside the well. He looks inside, sifts through what he can find. He’s alive again, ready to work.

Summertime, he falls in love with life. It’s beautiful outside, there’s too much to do. He sets his writings aside.

Then autumn arrives. The shortening of days, the falling leaves – his pen and papers call to him. So many adventures to record, stories to tell.

But autumn doesn’t last long. Suddenly, he’s mired in bleak winter. Nothing better to do then but sit by the fire with a pile of books and wait for spring again.

Autumn in London has been beautiful so far: sunny skies and crisp days.

I walk through Bow and Peckham on my way to work, listening to recently downloaded albums: the new ones from Erasure, Ghost Culture, Disclosure, CHVRCHES and New Order – plus some old ones too (Pet Shop Boys, 1999; Yazoo, early 80s.)

I have no energy or disposition to exercise once I’m back home; I’m envious of those heading towards Victoria Park. I’ve tried a few times to get off the tube earlier and walk up Mile End Park, following Regent’s Canal. I’m invisible to incoming cyclists and joggers.