Sat, 25 July

Things still present at 4:47pm: One snail. One fence rail. The silver record of a crossing. All the light that used to be in the sky, now distributed uniformly through the sky, sourceless, going. Silverbeet. Frost on the silverbeet. The particular grey that is also the absence of grey. Time, but only the kind that accumulates in soil. A held breath, which is not the same as silence. The garden, patient as something that has stopped waiting.