RWS Jour 63
It is Sunday, my favorite day of the week, and the sculpture feels like an inferno. I do not feel like writing today, and so I devote my attention to interaction. I catch up with old faces, make friends with new faces. I talk to so many people that I can’t remember what I have even said to whom. I work on planning my next walk, and I start to unfurl the first petals of a small project I am keen to make while here. I indulge in the spontaneity of the day. I read some more Walser, I think about walking, I walk.
In the most insufferable moment of the early evening, I find myself on a stroll to the lake. I have been at the sculpture all day, and I wear layers of the day on my face. Seeking a refuge, I amble towards water, thinking about Fritz Kocher’s enchantment with the lake. I am new to the cult of the lake, as I grew up calibrated to the ocean.
Today, I find myself falling further in enchantment with Switzerland, in partial thanks to Walser’s curious school boy whom has become my imaginary host. I get caught in torrential downpour on the walk back to the sculpture, but make it back in time for the chant quotidian. I park my tired body in the forum, completely in a daze, drifting off to her soothing voice as the sky begins to crack, and a chorus of thunder complements the score.