Yesterday morning, I led a journaling workshop and started it by reading out Maggie Smith’s poem ‘Rain, New Year’s Eve’. In it, the poet recalls a moment where her young daughter describes the rain as a broken piano, ‘playing the same note over and over’. ‘Already she knows loving the world/means loving the wobbles/you can't shim,’ Smith writes, ‘the creaks you can't/oil silent—the jerry-rigged parts,/MacGyvered with twine and chewing gum.’