Patterns not perfect

Sunny day. The heat is comfortable, until I’m indoors again.

Took myself to the park and tried to get stuck into this translation I’m doing. There’s this calm, long, flat, rectangular, lawn-like, flanked by trees and a path, patch of grass.

It’s a weird feeling and a strange process, rewriting the words someone else has externalised. It’s a different kind of pressure and responsibility, which I think I’ll slowly get used to because I only want to embrace it.

These are shorts.