My siesta today was rocked by iced coffee, and after the hour I slept, I woke up thinking about 'sensitivity' to whatever the 'forces' are. I wondered whether I had been directed recently to rewatch The Innocents, that great filmed version of Henry James's The Turn Of The Screw.
And whether that, in turn, sent me to try reading a bad neo-Gothic novel about haunting which, in turn, made me look for something good, Ghost Hunters, which centers as much as it can on Henry James's brother William.
I wondered, in that after-nap, whether I could find a 'reader', one an anonymous man with six questions in his pockets and no desire to debunk might visit and ask, read.
My evening walk was very windy, and the setting sun was red behind the clouds. Fear was rushing through the tall trees, but the electric lights held.