The Daily Scrap
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by Charles Crown
There is a willow tree in front of the girl and me. It is specific by its long reaching flexible branches. Those trees grow tall and the branches bend so low that one would think they are tempted to touch the ground.
This particular tree is an old one standing here for more than a hundred years at the same spot. Some people noticed its presence and recognised its magnificence by building a little introduction table next to it. The brief text classifies the species of the tree and describes the shape of the leaves and the buds it has during the summertime. The table also speaks about its height and age. As a consequence of reading the table, I kind of perceive its history on a sort of biological level. The tree has more experience than me and has witnessed the environment for longer.
Out of respect, just as I do it with philosophical books and its teachings, I pick up a thin branch that has fallen on the ground and create a crown out of it.
Taking the crown, keeping an eye contact, I put the crown on the top of the girl's freshly washed hair.
by Charles Living
Recently, I had been spending time reading the best rated authors on the history scale. Each of those books I had gone through associated itself to a particular place to a particular table and people. The King, Warrior, Magician, Lover was read in the National Library coffee corner in Edinburgh. The book itself attracted people by its title and those people would often make a contact.
While I was reading The King, Warrior... a woman in her sixties joined my table. She started reading newspapers. In a short while she was joined by her friend. They looked a few times at the cover of my book and eventually started talking to me and I would just nod and nod until one of them left and I ended up chatting with the remaining one.
“What is the book about?”
"It is a thing on personality development and how we lack initiation processes and how we go through masculinity crisis.”
“Oh, I have read so much about those things. ” And then she carried on talking and we would have very nice in-depth discussion.
At some point I noticed that her left hand was holding a recorder. And she’d not try to hide the act of pressing the record button while we were talking.