Weekends are taking on a familiar pattern. They begin with a briskish walk along the canal side, through Fairfield community orchard and home again via a hot chocolate and a book in Caffe Nero.
Since Les Miserables is rather bulky to carry, I'm taking Rilke's 'Letters to a Young Poet' instead. It's a slim book with ten letters from Rilke to an aspiring young poet. The writing strikes a chord, and I expect it's a book to which I'll return many times. Rilke advises
'be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.'
Wise words, I think.