Cambridge XXI

July 8, 2010

A squirrel grooms himself on the corner of the balcony visible from my window.

After night rain, the bricks and walls are patrolled by snails, some of them vast, their shells goblets from which their liquid bodies spilled..

My students did their arts presentations tonight, and they were wonderful– poems and collages, music, a fantastically good video. Steve accepted my invitation to come hear it, and I think he was delighted. I wanted the students to bring a dozen townspeople, but Steve was the only one who came. It made me happy. They made me happy. He made me happy. I thought he was God’s gift to me, but he said I was to him, and that seemed better, somehow. Walked a little in the bright night streets, until the tiny rain began to rain.

At least three of these students will never see the inside of a classroom. I feel they must know it, but intend to cling as long as they can, so whatever happens they cannot be accused of being quitters. Some are so fantastically unsuited for it–whatever virtues they have otherwise–that I can’t believe nobody has noted it before. Some, of course, will be perfect.

I have slept more hours here than I ever have anywhere, though the quality of the sleep has been wanting, light and agitated. It was not so in London. Let’s see what happens in Dublin. Tonight, though, I am perfectly content. Let’s see what difference that makes.