I’ve just got back from a week in Cornwall. It was full of thinking, talking, learning and writing and if you’d like to understand this flash a little more then I recommend you read this blog post by the excellent Dani Ahrens, who was with me on the trip. Marlow Moss visited me in a dream and then seemed to be at my shoulder for the rest of the week .
We stand where it is raining ultraviolet petals from Barbara Hepworth’s garden.
‘She never replied to my letters, you know?’
‘Don’t worry about it, Marlow, you’ve got all that white, and light. Cigarette?’
We walk up Barnoon Hill past the Palais de Danse, where girls are jitter-bugging with G.I.s, to the cemetery on the crest.
‘I’ll leave you here, Allie.’
Marlow Moss tips a grey trilby, turns into sea-mist drifting from Porthmeor.