Read this on the tube this morning, found it strangely comforting.
Time + consciousness = foreknowledge of our passing. Our only unique gift; we can act knowing, in some sense, that we are already dead.
The trees in winter, those exact diagrams of all our dead yearnings.
(Don Paterson - The Book of Shadows)
It just felt nice to think about non-essential things, rather that my usual: 'how many minutes late for work will I be if I go and get a sneaky coffee from Starbucks first?' / 'Did I file those invoices?'
I thought about the coffee and the invoices on the 3 minute journey between the station and the offices, instead.
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