Tag Archives: katherine gregor

Brownie & Sentinel

“It’s like when you’re happy that two people you really like get together,” H. announced, smiling, after witnessing Brownie and Sentinel engaged in an intimate act on our kitchen balcony.  I understand it was a blink-and-you-miss-it, straight-to-the-point performance, but long … Continue reading

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The rain is calling

The rain is calling. Stop hiding. I’m sitting at my work table, reading the Saturday papers online while trying to psych myself up to work. My eyes keep drifting away from the screen to the raindrops landing sharply on the … Continue reading

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Evening Prayer Before Lockdown

I went to evening prayer the night before this second lockdown began. I’ve always loved choral evensong.  The first one I ever heard, in the Chapel of King’s College, Cambridge, in early Michaelmas Term 1984, made such a life-changing impression … Continue reading

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My Citrine Quartz Ring

My friend F. gave me a ring two summers ago. Even elegant Autumn stomped in this year, perhaps sensing that subtlety was wasted on us.  The bay tree on our balcony is waterlogged, the French windows are streaked with rain, … Continue reading

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Twenty-Five-Hour Day

I’ve written about this before.  After Christmas Eve, this is my favourite day of the year.  I look forward to it for weeks and, the night before, I go to sleep cradled by the joy of genuine hope and anticipation, … Continue reading

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A Red Hair Drier

I threw away a hair drier last week.  It had been lying around for weeks while I tried to find someone to fix it.  The prospect of throwing it away made me sad.  I haven’t used a hair drier for … Continue reading

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Through a Zoom Lens*

My favourite thing after I wake up in the morning is to step out on the balcony outside my study and stand beneath the vast expanse of the East Anglian skies.  The pigeons are generally sitting on the railings or … Continue reading

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Translation as a Dance

A little something I wrote for the Italian Institute of Culture in London website, kindly republished by the Los Angeles Review of Books: https://lareviewofbooks.org/short-takes/translation-as-a-dance

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A Story My Grandfather Used To Tell My Mother…

My mother used to tell me a story which her father would tell her. My grandfather was Iranian (half Azerbaidjani, haf Turkmenistani), and this may be a Sufi tale… When Noah was gathering all the animals onto his Ark, and … Continue reading

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The Lady of Paris

When I first saw her, a few weeks ago, while crossing the Pont Saint-Michel, she looked like the ghost of a bygone age, her earthly life a memory, her soul gone from the stone.  Grey against the bleak, overcast night … Continue reading

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