12:10pm Wednesday 2nd May 

 

The fields were ploughed about a month ago now - I think. I can never remember how long it's been since anything has happened, recently. Not without a rigid schedule, littered with reminders of the date, and real clocks that aren’t just my phone. 

 

The churning of the plough causes all sorts of bits and pieces to resurface, mostly little pebbles and broken golf balls. Most exciting to me, though, are the tiny pieces of pottery that sit atop the soil, winking at me in the light as I wander through the fields. 

 

I collected these broken pieces about a month ago now, maybe two, and brought them back to the dam where I played when I was younger. I laid them out across a mossy rock to assess and choose my favorites. A tiny snail accompanied me alone.

 

The few most decorative pieces went back into my pockets to come home with me. Adorned with rich blue glazes and embossed with angels. I left the rest on the mossy rock with the snail. 

 

As I retraced those same steps today, they were untouched, exactly as I’d left them, as I’m sure they will be next month, and the month after that, and the next time I’m home.