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I glimpse the top deck of a double-decker bus curving up the hill towards the main road, Keith Jarrett plays piano in Vienna on my AirPods, I cross the boundary road, a darkened vehicle with blazing tail lights waits for the city executive, along the hill road specks of light mingle with the garden conifer, a Santa Claus still trying to climb the chimney, a person dressed for the office desk heads towards the underground sign.
I ask myself how this noticing feels, I write 'strangely calming', but I'm not sure what I mean. I re-read some previous notes and cross out the word 'fragments' (of a day, person, thing) and replace that word with moments. I seem to realise that the day doesn't fragment, it arises, in moments, of movement.

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