I seem to be grieving. Not for the dead but for the living. For things I can’t make better. What has set it off? Family birthdays. November darkness. My first autumn on reduced anti-depressants for a decade. All of these. None of these. I can’t get out the house. I’ve missed yoga again. I should get some air. Can’t seem to move. I’m heavy. I mustn’t waste the day. Where’s ML? I phone her. Can you come and get me out the house? She returns. Drives us to the sea front. I get a coffee and pastry which will give me cramps but is worth it today. We walk along the pier. The light is poetry.