I got up at 4.30 to watch the sun rise at the Priory stone.
Transcribed from my notebook
How memories sometimes surface unbidden.
The landscape as a depository for memory.
Is there any such thing?
A small unknown place on the map suddenly becomes a place of significance.
Ancient, buried histories.
Europe in ruins.
A metaphor for memory.
Tears, stains synonymous with memory.
A map of the interior.
The countryside around is synonymous with one man.
We see the landscape around through Constable’s eyes.
A kind of clarity – to be able to see the sun rise at one end of the escarpment and set at the other. The brightness of the stars in the sky at night.