These stories, these stories are—
I don't know what they are.
I think the leaves will die soon. They'll look pretty when they do. Reds, oranges—sunset colors you know? I might take a walk when it happens.
There's something about collecting things. Especially if they're meaningless. Pretty leaves, chestnut shells, lost gloves. Whatever is on the ground and fits in your pocket. Chestnuts in particular have a pleasant feel to them. A bit watery (not just water chestnuts), very glossy. If you've ever held a buckeye you'll know those are similar but maybe a little stickier.
Beaches are best visited when its cold out. I like wearing light jackets while I walk next to the tide. A massive piece of slate just past the beach. Breakwaters out maybe a 100 feet into the sea. Sometimes they're on either side of the beach. All the better if its drizzling outside.
English Magic is, it's… hard to say. Short stories are always a little strange. They have to be. But they are strange in the way bus rides can be. Someone asked to call their mom from my phone. The bus driver forgave my fare. I tried so hard to find the shell house. It's not on the brochure.
It takes a long time to live a life. Every day could feel gray if you're looking at it a few years from now. One massive piece of slate, and so on, resting on the clouds.
Okay. English Magic is, fuck, well its just really slippery. I'm getting ready for the trick or treaters. I put candy in the bowl, decorated the house and it's wet out. The pavement is glistening. I've always loved oil on pavement. I wish it weren't poisonous.
Sometimes you have to fight back. Just a bit. More than a bit. It's our land. Please don't pave it. I tried to give my neighbor a pie. I'll try again later. Foil on top so it doesn't get rainwater on it. I'd like to have community eventually. Annual festivals with leaves and tents. Someone is playing an instrument. It sounds nice.
Have you ever played in the rain? I mean play like play an instrument, but I guess that counts as playing in the rain too. Your hands get really cold and you usually sound flat. Sort of authentic and sort of not your best. Funnel fries never taste as good as you remember them. Build Me Up Buttercup sounds like cold hands and cauldrons of apple butter.
English Magic is…community? Or rainy days. Or kicking an addiction. Or tearing up rails.
I wish I could find that shell house. This one just isn't the same.
English Magic by Uschi Gatward is part of a mini-series entitled "Red Books". 1/(?)
Uschi Gatward, English Magic. Norwich: Galley Beggar Press, 2021. Koller-Collins Collection PR6107 .A89 E54 2021
