On my last day in Scotland I encountered a herd of young black bulls. They were running around a large meadow. As I approached the gate in the fence, they too converged and were looking on very curiously. They were pushing on each other, panting quietly. They were skittish; when I held out my hand, they retreated quickly, but came right back. They were like a multi-headed dragon. I was standing there a long while, as if in front of a mirror, but then I went away, and they were watching me until I disappeared out of their line of sight.

A group of children I know likes to play a game of “bull”. Whoever is drawn to be the “bull” has the task of catching one of the others. Only someone who has contact with the ground can be caught, so you can protect yourself against being caught by jumping on different objects. When caught, a person becomes the “bull”. The game leads to a stalemate or a conflict very quickly. Those who run away, tend to sit motionless on objects for too long; and the role of the “bull”, for obvious reasons, is quickly passed on to the person that is the slowest runner, and usually the youngest in the group, who refuses to be the “bull” after a while. Nevertheless, whenever they meet, they start playing the game immediately.

I cannot sleep. Perhaps I have too much planned. But I’ve had worse. Slowly, a general plan is shaping. More on it later, for sure.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)