late, sore throat, rougher voice. Morning of a progressing cold, memories of a long drive in the now ended night. From Abbeyleix to Lismore, country roads, boy racers courtship rituals in the hills, driving past all the bright coupés with their lowcut spoilers and their fog lamps on.
A bright morning, the son is up and standing beside his bed, looking out of the window, putting on his clothes for the day, turns around runs out, to his cousins
Stay sleeping, resting letting the cold have its way, hoping it will begone, soon soon.
Wake later, the clocks have lost an hour, it is easter sunday, the dogs are excited, the brothers wife is going to church with her sons, the elder one has a long face, complains of boredom.
the son himself in front of silver machine apple computer playing a game with a jumping penguin.
Good morning, and it is a quarter to 12..
They changed the clocks last night, in the early hours of Easter Sunday.
Later the sun will come out and they will hunt for eggs in the wet grass.
The hills are heather violet and capped with white clouds.
A bright morning, the son is up and standing beside his bed, looking out of the window, putting on his clothes for the day, turns around runs out, to his cousins
Stay sleeping, resting letting the cold have its way, hoping it will begone, soon soon.
Wake later, the clocks have lost an hour, it is easter sunday, the dogs are excited, the brothers wife is going to church with her sons, the elder one has a long face, complains of boredom.
the son himself in front of silver machine apple computer playing a game with a jumping penguin.
Good morning, and it is a quarter to 12..
They changed the clocks last night, in the early hours of Easter Sunday.
Later the sun will come out and they will hunt for eggs in the wet grass.
The hills are heather violet and capped with white clouds.
No comments:
Post a Comment