You have made it happen. Water spins light-thrilled. Lines zip across windows, depend or dash. Puddles accept more circles of their substance. People huddle under canopies. Workmen wait in sheds. Mind overlooks a dry winter, for now. Reason keeps a score on warmth. Umbrellas, everyone complains about them sometime: they don’t obey, they blow away. Nothing much to complain of, living in the world’s most liveable city. You tell us how it falls on good and bad alike. And of its substance are we made. We dashed through August puddles, homeward gloried getting drenched. Nothing’s changed much in that respect.
Monday, 14 August 2017
Our daughter thinks it’s all coincidence. I say, maybe, but how come everything’s patterned? Why are we certain of purpose? Everything’s so beautiful, so august. August, is that a word?, she asks, leaving for French homework. After dinner, conversation turns to what my wife calls nagging insolubles. Science cannot explain everything, I say, and ignores religion’s warnings of human fallibility. Are ‘No Religion’s just believers in scientific benefit? She disagrees. What’s my definition of religion? Everyone’s religious, I say, then reflect: religion’s that which gets you out of bed in the morning. She thinks ‘No Religion’s believe in their family.
Nagging insolubles keep being voiced. How come it’s us and not someone else? Why the Earth? Apart from the physics, why is it round with a hard outer and hot liquid centre? How come we’re free of it, unlike a tree? And why do we stand up, given the dragging insoluble of gravity? Sometimes we kneel. There are bragging insolubles. How come I’m bigger than an ant but less organised? Sagging insolubles, e.g. why are we round with a hard outer and red hot liquid centre? And this august wine! - flagging insoluble questions then bagging staggeringly insoluble answers, why?