… Even when I was sat there, watching that bird, I was thinking to myself: who should I tell about this? It struck me as very much like something out of a book. I don’t know if that’s piteous or not, that I can’t quite live in the moment, even these days.
Mind you, ten years ago, I’d have been off that very afternoon, trying to find a quiet place so I could write it all down. Because ten years ago I’d have always had a pad and a pen with me, to do that very thing. Condense it into a blogpost. Turn it into something with a moral. Pin the butterfly, before it’s even finished flapping its wings.
Where did that hunger go, I wonder? I can’t say I really miss it: but I do worry that nothing has taken its place; nothing except for the complacency of middle-class ageing, and a slightly rounder tummy.