On Mondays M and I meet in the grounds of a beautiful local Victorian Mansion, and after a caffeinated sister-debrief, do a timed-write together in the ornate Reading Room. After, we always walk up to the glorious acers and redwoods for some tree love. It means we start the week with exercise, connection, nature and work.

But I have a fractured brain again today, so though I was up in time, I am late, because I can’t get myself out the house. Performing the necessary sequence of steps to make it happen feels impossible. I’m still so fucking fatigued and it’s making me extra sad because I had those two and a half days last week when I felt well.

A Taste of Honey…

Come on Rachel, you can do it.

I’m out the house and on my bike and cycling, in forward motion, thinking maybe I won’t be too late… but then I get to the path past the play-park, and it’s cordoned off. A policeman is guarding it. It’s a crime scene, he says. Can’t go through.

Dog-walkers tell me police are doing forensics and suggest rerouting past the stables. Will be good to catch a glance of the horses, at least. I don’t see them but wow their manure smells so pungent this morning. Finally I arrive, breathless, and explain to M about the crime scene, hoping it didn’t involve too much suffering.

There is a man in the Reading Room, working at the desk we normally use. We place ourselves in the armchairs instead, miming to each other, trying to be quiet. Instead of starting my writing, I find myself googling local news and police websites.

Brain so scattered… but I finally settle into writing. M tells me that I write with the physical force of someone in a state of absolute fury. No wonder I get neck pain. As we’re writing, the sky shifts, the light completely changes, and through the plate glass windows, a yellow tree assumes a shade so intense it is almost obscene.

M and I share the colour-joy together. This Autumn has been painted so deep.

Cycling home, the police cordon has moved position, but is still in place. I find out that a man in his fifties had been stabbed at 5.30 am, in an apparently ‘motiveless’ attack. It’s not a violent area, so I guess he was just a runner out on his normal routine. It wasn’t fatal, but I can’t help imagining the horror he’s been left with.

I think about that and I think about the yellow tree too.