Annaghmakerrig: Steady Falls the Rain

It is raining. Has been raining all day.

Self walked to the lake; it was bitter cold.  But she was lured onward by the sight of an elegant white swan, bobbing in solitary splendor on the rough waves of the lake. As she approached, she saw several more swans, all bobbing in stately ease, despite gusty winds.

There is nothing ethereal about a swan.  Self knows them from children’s picture books, where they play a transformational role in many, many stories.  But up close, she is so struck by their creature-lyness.  Their bulk.  Their solidity.  Their functionality.  Their being somewhat like cows.  In terms of how well-suited they are to their environment.

Today she wandered as close to them as she could, which meant she had to hide behind a big tree.  Then she suddenly had the disagreeable thought (self is always having disagreeable thoughts) that if these swans decided to attack her with their beaks, she would be in terror.  Those beaks must hurt.  She also knows how fast they can move — at least, across the water.  Yesterday, she saw one moving from right to left across the choppy waters of a huge lake.  The swan never deviated from its path, which was perpendicular to the waves.  And just to show you how powerful its speed was, she couldn’t capture it clearly on her viewfinder, even though she tracked it very carefully:

Sighted Yesterday, on the Way to Annaghmakerrig: A determined swan powers its way across a wide lake, in blustery winds.

Sighted Yesterday, on the Way to Annaghmakerrig: A determined swan powers its way across a wide lake, in blustery winds.

Switching gears here (with apologies for any transitional abruptness):

Lorde is on the cover of the Sunday Times Magazine, which someone had discarded on the kitchen table.  Self scooped it up and took it back with her to her cottage (though calling her unit a “cottage” is like referring to a Rolls Royce as a “method of conveyance.”)

On the cover, Lorde is wearing humongous green shades, and a white suit.  She looks old.  Not just “older than 17” old, but old. Like, forty-something.  Her mouth has that trademark dark goth lipstick.  Her skin’s somewhat papery-looking.

Self adores Lorde.  She loved her twitchy performance at the Grammys, but months before that, she’d tune up “Royals” whenever it played on her car radio. So, the article snags her full attention for almost 15 minutes, a record.

The interview is by a veteran: Lynn Barber.  Barber describes Lorde’s poise and maturity as “terrifying”, which would probably explain why self is so easily terrified, especially by new people and new surroundings (Yes, self does put on a pretty convincing performance of chatty ease, but it’s not her. Not really)

It’s the lyrics that make Lorde’s songs so amazing.  At least, the parts Lynne Barber chooses to quote are so amazing:

“I still like hotels, but I think that’ll change.” (from Still Sane)

“Don’t you think it’s boring how people talk/Making smart with their words again, well I’m bored/ Because I’m doing this for the thrill of it, killin’ it/ Never not chasing a million things I want/ And I am only as young as the minute is full of it.” (from Tennis Court)

The article finishes with a hint of cattiness, but it’s still an honest article.

Stay tuned.

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