I learned from a documentary on television that cows have great feelings and real sense of community. When one of the group is separated, the rest is wondering where she might be. This morning I ran past a pasture with just one calf. It tried to get away from the fence as fast as it could. One of the front legs was twice as thick and the calf had difficulty to stand on it. I felt sorry for it, and for the group. It looked like a male one.
I am reading Breasts and eggs, written by Meiko Kawakami. It seems to be autobiographical. On page 88 she writes: ‘Writing makes me happy. But it goes beyond that. Writing is my life’s work. I am absolutely positive that this is what I am here to do. Even if it turns out that I don’t have the ability, and no one out there wants to read a single word of it, there’s nothing I can do about this feeling. I can’t make it go away. (…) I know that in reality, it makes no difference whether I write novels, and it makes no difference if anyone cares. With all the countless books already out there, the world won’t notice if I fail to publish even one book with my name on it. That’s no tragedy. I know that. I get that.’
Even copying texts of writers I admire gives me a strong sense of belonging, the kind of sense normal ( I do not mean to be offensive) people experience by just waking up, showering and having breakfast.
This afternoon we went for a hike in the hills. When returned by our car we saw A4 signs on trees and signs towards waterfalls in the Yonne. It happened to be a fabulous garden with philosophical messages, little librairies, seats and smaller ecogardens with mosses. On our way out we met the creator, reading one of the donated books. A life’s work.
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