Detachment

I woke in WaterWorld this morning, everything fluid and glistening, tide pale and high and the islands dark sepia and two-dimensional. I can't ever rationalize how everything cooperates in an impression like that, how one morning the geraniums are bright, the water blue and the birds sociable, and another morning it is all sober and handsome with one austere large bird calling from the air, and no colour in anything, only light.

We worked late yesterday, got home at midnight after a full evening shoot, I was third camera and loved it so the time passed quickly. This morning we all slept in for varying reasons, though I woke at eight for coffee and a tranquil long read. I am in the middle of The Future Eaters again, but broke off to dampen my mind with Joanna Trollope. I get too involved with Tim Flannery and need a break, though anyone who can make an entire chapter of extinct marsupials rivetting reading gets my vote.

We leave for Sydney three weeks today, and I will be back seamlessly into a familiar way of life, remembered broad leafy streets, the quality and smell of the air, handsome, solid houses instead of these West Coast pretensions of softwood and matchboard. There is a new TacoBell going up in central San Rafael, springing up in no time at all, and by the time we get back I know it will look painted and real and landscaped - but I know better.

In truth wooden houses can be very resilient, preferable in an earthquake area, but that doesn't mean they feel solid to me.

I really wonder if human beings and 'civilisation' are such a great idea, that the world might be better off, certainly more beautiful, if we made a tactful departure with apologies for the mess and no way of ever paying for it, like irresponsible party guests. Are we really a higher order of consciousness?