Who knows why
Why, on last week’s Saturday walk the dog sprinted to the horizon in a cloud of dust, yet on yesterday’s (and today’s) was biddable. Who knows why, when I unleashed him on the masses of London horizon that is Hackney Marshes, he skirted round the edges near the trees. Who knows why we moved from London in the first place. I do know that, at least: for more space, for the children.
Who knows why I have changed so much in the intervening period – different dog, a cat, two children that are barely recognisable from the babies that they were.
Who knows why I take photos like this, on walks.
Who knows why I like reflections of clouds and church towers, lichen, peeling paint and split wood. Why I like tired curtains in a 1950s flimsy and faded crème de menthe.
Who knows why, cracked glass and terrible yellows. Painted walls under blue skies supervising industrial distress.
Who knows why windows from the outside, when I can never see in.
Who knows why; any of it?