Lantern low — Erik wrote it down

This is not a speech and not a vote. It is the shape of an evening when the canal looked like wet stone and everyone pretended they had not been standing in the doorway listening. Nothing here is a shop. Not the jars, not the apples, not the boats, not my time. Ask with your name on the day you mean it. Same thread next month if needed. Until then: boots, paper, mail, Friday.

Nothing here is a shop. Not the jars, not the apples, not the boats, not my time. Ask with your name on the day you mean it. I will not reply to every thank-you. I will notice if the kettle is on the cellar stair again.

Someone will ask again in a week. The answer will have the same shape: read the paper, read the board, write two lines if you need a bed, and do not invent a meeting that was only rain.

Writing so Saturday does not become detective work. My boots are on the step. Green pair. If they are in your way, move them one metre, not into the long room. See you Thursday if the weather agrees.