Ken Edwards

  Something happened. There, where it happened before. What was it, when, where? In media res . In the wind. There as it blows. The wind makes our head cold and confuses us. There is almost constant wind here, where we sit or stand or lie, and it is chiefly blowing from the direction of the south-west, that is the prevailing direction, though sometimes (as a change) easterly, and one has to endure it, or make provision against it, or go with it, as is appropriate at any particular instant; for sometimes it’s mild, it softens the cheeks, glorious to relate, and sometimes it’s horrid, but that’s how it goes. It goes and it happens. That is, it sings. It sings as it sounds. A high-pitched sound in our ears, or that may merely be the tinnitus. And we sit or stand or lie in our quarters, which are partially sheltered, it has to be said, which will do. We are in media res , which is Latin for in the middle of it all, or in the middle of nowhere. We are discovered here, or we are...