Yesterday, a brisk wind is good for wind surfing. For me, who, now too old, would like nothing better, it has to be a vicarious sport. I watch it, expertly performed with sail, and at greater speed, more spectacularly, with a kite, a single curved wing. Then another kite appears. When the two kite surfers draw level, the two kites join up against the sky, for a few moments, to form the letter "m".
The sea is calm today. No one is on the beach. It is raining. We swim in the rain.
Some months ago I was talking on the telephone to an old friend of Heidi´s, a recently retired Professor of Dramatic Studies at the University of Berlin. In the same conversation, he asks me how to get hold of the Letters of Virginia Woolf, and later he enthuses about Any Human Heart, the novel by William Boyd. I failed to ask him why he wanted the Woolf letters. Today, as I read, with great enjoyment, Any Human Heart, I find a specific reference to the letters. I have the answer. The connexion is made.