camel drawing +2

Let me tell you. February 1st and my wife wakes up and says 
“I know what it is; it’s the music of camels.” 
“ Were you dreaming of camels?” I ask her. 
No response. The moment is over. The door or window to the mind closes. 
This morning after all the rain I have to store the logs delivered yesterday. I remember how my children once made a game of this. 
After lunch my wife sleeps and I sit with her and wait to hear what she might say about today, these moments, the now. 
When the television is on it is real, we are there; we are at a concert or with wild animals or walking through ruins and if I speak my wife turns on me . “Hush”. 
Sometimes these words settle in different ways. My wife talks in silences much of the time now. 
Tonight watching another concert she asks “is it real?” 
It’s all real. Every minute. Every second. Always. 
When the blind pianist begins to play my wife motions for me to stand to attention. 
Her applause is as if angels had entered the room. 
The radio presenter always smiles at her before beginning. Atrocities. The death of cyclists. Children in refugee camps. 
A naked man who keeps getting arrested. 
When foxes come into our road in December very early in the 
morning I don’t tell her in case she wants to invite them in. 


David Grubb
illustration Nick Victor




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