31st

3kt of August two thousand and I 6.

It rained during the imyht, the clothes on the line are wet.,

the vegetation is wet. There are small pools of welter

on top of the flat balcony railing, the sky is cloudy and there

is a mist over the mountains and hills.

Aswgk pigeon is roosting on an electric cable joining

two houses. The swallows are to be heard twitter.mg in the

distance somewhere and the cock over the hill starts to work

apart from a few Italians, shouting at each other with bad

voices, and the wm from an datie refrigerator in the flat, akis

well and quiet.

It is, after all only seven eighteen in the morning.

The Farming ooupk, in the xnak house over the hill, have

started a smoky fire, burning more of their waste. Perhaps they

feel emboldened to do this because of the dampness of the ground,

and therefore have less risk of such a fire going out of control.

The smell of the coffee making reaches the nose, and the

little espresso cooker is starting to make noises.

And despite all of this calm and quiet, Tinnitus rages and

headaches dance around the scalp. This Wednesday.

Find a dean up, and sit at the perforated tin table on the

flat's balcony, with pen paper and mobile phone, in This

west Fuscaw landscape, in the summer that is nearing its

end.

Smoke behind the hillock

30th august 2016

fog and low cloud. There is smoke from behind the

hillock where the farmers work every morning. They must

be burning the rubbish accrued during the work with the

grape vines and the olive trees.

Put on some day clothes and go to the car park at the bottom of

the village to search for this notebook in the car. The ear is

empty, there is no bag with a notebook there. Return to the

house, the house that serves as a holiday home The ginger

cat is at the doorway, waiting to be let in. It must love can

a part of this household in the past, and still expects food

and attention here.

It weaves some milk in a saucer, which it taps up

gestoso, with bad purring. search the flat for the black

bag with the notebook, and finally, find it in the dart

of the wardrobe.

On the way to the balcony, see that the cat has finished

its with. It would like more, like much more.

A large ginger cat with a white breast and underside, and

grey paws.

The farmers are at the top of the hill now, among their vines.

A child with a large dog walks up the iwtt to the place where their

voices are coming from.

The farmers are shouting now, loud and dramatic ltahim

It is a soft day, soft light, clouds spread all over the ship,

dimming the harsh light at the sun, making the shadows of

the building lighter.

The cat gets up to search for food somewhere else.

and the cock behind the hill crows.

Snores and cocks crow

29th August 2016

Awake to the sound of snores, and cocks crowing.

go to  balcony, see that there is light outside, and the

sound of a tractor, and the sound of stones or bricks

being stacked, and italian workers shouting at each

other. It is monday, and the people have started to work early

to avoid the sun later.

The sky is tall blue on account of the haze. And the

tractor engine starts again, after alda arnvederci have

been exchanged all round.

A morning of sounds, and the tips

 of many of the trees

are turning brown already.

Cocks crow and birds twitter

And now the Italians are all calling' 'ciao'.

Sunday

28th August 2016

Up at seven, wash.

Think at the black bag with the notebook inside. It is in the

car.

So dress in yesterdays clothing and leave the house,

forgetting to take the key out. The door falls to, and

is locked.

Oh well, no key for the flat. go to the car, there is a

rushing sound of water. A stream is now flowing down

the hill, where there had been no stream yesterday. A

diversion in some irrigation system?

The black bag is in the car, where it had been left, and

the notebook and the pen are inside. Take the black bag, and

walk back up the hill. On the way, take a side path along

a small road between two stone walls. After a very

short walk, come out on the hill upon which the farmers

had been working for the past week. There are immaculately

hept fields of grapevine here, plantations, all owned

separately, all separated by fences.  All the grass between the plots has been Trimmed.

The path goes on up the hill, past tiny huts in the fields.

It is a beautiful place.

The sun is up now, but it has got much colder. The

top of the hill is pleasant, but return now. Even thought it

is a public place, a public path, the whole nature of

the place is private, there is no sense in attracting

attention here.

Return to the locked door at the holiday accomodation,

and sit on the stoop with a large ginger cat. she wants

to get into the house too. Pat her head, she purrs.

Both wait, and then the cat gets up and walks away.

A man rolls down the steep cobbled streets in a

tiny three-wheeled vehicle which barely fits into the

street. It is a strange construction with a small cabin

on the front and a platform for carrying heads on the

boy. It has a tony two state engine, and is than steered

by handlebars, just like a motor scooter.

Another man comes roaring up the hill in another

one of these tiny vehicles, just wthe size for the minute

streets. Years ago, the people may have used donkeys

and carts, now they speed around inn these three

wheeled vehicles.

The village is now waking up, it is half past eight.

The cat has returned, it really wants to go into the hours.

It sits and purrs, a marmalade coloured large

cat, with a mmged tail and a chip out of mean,

And in one of the houses canaries are twitter.mg to each

other. A constant sound.

The cat goes away to patiently wait at#he another

door, in the hope that it will he let in there.

Ice Saturday

27th August two thousand and sixteen

The coffee made now, it its quarter past eight in the morning.

Bright sunlight is a norm up here, the only time the temperatures

are comfortable is in the early morning. The rest of the

day is first hot, and the evenings warm. August

meahtemawam Mediterranean.

The wife and the son are still asleep, the son is

now twelve and he likes to sleep long.

Ap 'n 'he mountains, high above the sea, it is pleasant,

it is cooler. The sun still blisters down on unprotected

face, arms, and legs, but the air is cooler, more

breathable.

Nowadays 

On Saturdays.

Nowadays, the only animals kept up here are dogs

and cats, cats strangely sociable. Quite unlike the cats

in Germany, die Haus Katzen, which would start a fight

with any other cat doing to encroach upon their territory,

property.

even farmers are up later.

Three clatters at the hell bell mean 

'it is now a quarter to mine.

Early

26 August 2016

The sun is not up yet, the son is in bed with a blanket

over his hair like a head scarf. The son is asleep, and

the cool air on the balcony is not yet burnt by the

5th 'The grass and the leaves are blue green, and the

tops of the hills are orange; The cocks have started

to crow, they will peep that up all day. The cocks chorus.

and the little coffee machine, filled earlier, chortles to

itself as the steam pressure in the base part forces the 

coffee up through the spout into the upper part of the

aluminium container.

and now the sun has risen high enough to

Illuminate the house directly, and it changes its colour

from cool blue to blazing orange.

Half moon on Earth and lunar phase in the heavens

25th of August, two thousand and sixteen.

The cock crows and the half moon is overhead, the

sun over the horizon in the east.

From the sound of it, there are at least two cooks in

hearing range, alternately calling.

A tiny cup of strong coffee, made with a small italian

machine. The news of the disastrous earthquake yesterday leaves more than just the ground shaken → There is

only bad news from outside these days.

The half moon in the sky is watched by the madness

of the half moon on earth, it wanting a fast solution

and the other wearing, one day having her face

illuminated, another her profile, yet another she is

not to be seen at all. Luna, or whatever that Godess was called.

An Italian voice then sounds from the flat above, the sound

of a telephone, an answer.

The cock keeps on coming, and there is smoke msug

Eight bells, it is eight in the morning.

anither day, in the holiday.

Holiday Italian window 2

24 August 2016

His eight, a serious whistling tinnitus. No, there are

two bells, it is half past eight. Twdussy hussy, beqiiet.

Cocks crow, and there is the sound of chain Saros in the distance.

The couple tending their crops oxvre out and about on the

hilltop today, they are pulling a hosepipe, there are

olive trees and grapevines visible up there, The metal table

and the freshly made up of Espresso coffee help to start this

day, not as early as planned, but then, these are

holidays.

The street light on the corner of the house appanositi is

still on, a sodium lamp on a wall support.

And maw i it has just gone out.

Moon ↳ only half moon today, and the news says

that there was an earthquake in the night, not

far from here.

distant sodium lamp

Balcony in Gioviano

23 August 2016

On the balcony, a flock of small birds, fluttering in The valley

outside, in front of the window, swallows, swallow like.

But they are not swallows.

The moon is up over the scene, now waned to a half

moon, it seems smaller than yesterday. From the other

side of the shy the suns rays illuminate the hillsides

all covered in trees

Three belts, three quarters of an hour, the farmer throttles

his machine for a while, and then proceeds around the

hill. Now the sound is muffled.

And the birds have gone for a few minutes, maybe

they have found a flock of, or swarm of flies somewhere

dtse.

It is time to make holiday coffee.

West italy

Holiday Italian window

22 August, 2016

Awaken in a darkened room, light in the orudus of the Hines

show that it is day. The bathroom is a design from the

eighties, but it is dean. So is the whole holiday flat, absolutely

clean.

Listen to the cocks grow outside, and the only other

sound is birdsong and a mere woman hurting her

shoes together on a balcony opposite, a house fifty

yards away. she is hurting the dirt out of the soles

of the shoes, letting it fall over the balcony into the

bushes below.

sit on the balcony chair, at a small round tin table, as

the silence is disturbed by one of the villagers on a quad

and a helicopter passes by, on an errand to somewhere.

Then there is silence, no noises of machines, just the

sound of people talking, and the calls of the small

birds, mark martins, not swallows, flying in urekge

to catch flies.

The family, that is. the wife and the son, are asleep, and

there is no valuation to wake three bells

Sound here Kr, a small church. Three bells, a

quarter to mine, in a silent valley, a peaceful

valley.

The moon is still overhead, it as three quarters

full.

It is holiday time now, for another nine days.

.. Make a cup of breakfast coffee.

The hells, a sort of Double Ring, and merit

is nine in the morning.

Nine, that is late. late in the morning.

Holiday Italian window

Ice OCR

20th August za 6, written atnttn twenty first

four am, before morning, before the day.-Twtynsn

Yesterday, now, the tourney to Italy, dbo the Alps,

past the Brenner Pass.

The family awakens later, all the showers done me

over with. Turmoil as the items for the journey are

last-minute eheohxed, some things are not to be found.

At last, much later, the road to Rosenheim, the motorway

over the Alps.

The day ends after a five hour stoppage, a traffic

mess, and an endless journey across the Appewwes,

mmrseuh roads with hairpin hands, and a bout of

illness, disorientation, tiredness and sickness.

A classical start to a holiday, or anything good

grow out of such a disaster.

Bright eyeds behind users, motorcyclists testing their

mettle approach around corners, ignoring the

shirt months on the road and the art soaked memory

of their colleagues carriage atn the roadside. DHET hat

sport is only sport when it is dangerous. Maybe a

few crosses at the radside, with a motorcycle helmet over

them, soldier style, would serve as a warning.

A ayhe it would have the opposite effect.

Exhaustion-and sickness. The day that had a

mediocre heycnniy ended badly.

21 st August 2016

Awaken in a double heel with woa=← metal ends, painter

to look like wood. An Italian room, tiled floors, louvred

windows. The memory of the last night, attention from the

villagers, fears that there might be a heart attack to tend to.

It was all in hndness, but it was just exhaustion.

Alone in the dim room, a holiday flat. The landlady,

last night doubtful at these strange people arriving so late.

kitchen, tits and nieces. Instant coffee, cups, heat a pot

over the gas, there is no kettle.

Look out into a medieval village, high in the hills,

all the hills soft agrd green 1 covered in chestnut trees

and others. The village was fohhfcid then, eight

hundred years ago, and later. Now it is just a light

collection of houses, one on top of the next,

The coffee, htach bitter and instant.

Just rest, with the family awakens. This is a day for

recovery.

in a run down hall at the end of town

Friday, 19 august 2016

A big girl on a small slim bicycle passes on down the alley,

turns right at the church and on down the main street.

see her turn left down the Theater street, another bicycle

and cycliste leaves the theatre street and pedals on down The

old town street.

Landshut traffic at five in the morning on a Friday.

See Dolores on her way to the bus stop, slow, almost dragging herself, dutiful on her way to the bus stop.

-at the bus stop the ground is sticky with sap dripped from the lime trees.

A woman with glowing red sneakers walks along

the promenade, past the ducks that are all sitting the wall.

This is the last day at work for two weeks,

There is a poster on a stand advertising Flatley's

Lord of Dance, to take place in a run down hall at

the end of town. There are other posters too.

Dolores remains sitting on a park bench, Thirty yards away.
An orange dumpster passes on its way into town, swerving from the main road into the pedestrian zone.
The waste disposal crew are all peering out at the huge front window of the truck,

probably all barely awake. They are all wearing Their safety clothes, the red ones with the reflective strips.

The bus driver changes the professed note with the remark that it is better to have a lot of large money notes than a small amount of loose coins. A friendly man, good-humoured in the morning.

At the railway station:
The smoker, says good morning, he is in mutual discussion with a tall white haired man, another

smoker.

In y's Cafe the service is a young woman with an Indian face and an absolutely perfect german.

One large coffee, and that will be the last of this tour

for two weeks.

and the train is late.

among the woods of The Moos burg Marshes

Thursday,August 68, 246

the alley is bare, it is dark, the sky is barely to be seen, It is a dark blue, blackened.The sun has not risen yet The alley deserted, the main street too.

In the Theater street there is a woman walking two poodles.. The tiny animals are tangling their leads, one dog white, one dog black.

Say Good morning to Dolores, and watch the flock of seven ducks on the glass patch by the river. They are content, waddling about, grazing like sheep.

All at once, they all Turn towards the river, and start to waddle towards it at their best pedestrian pace.

The woman with her dogs has arrived, the dogs showing great' interest in all the fat ducks. Some of these birds start to flap their wings, and then they are all flying , a short distance to the river, and then Touch down in the current. All at a safe distance from the canine attention.

At his usual place in front of the railway station, there is the smoker with his short loosely fitting trousers. Good Morning, Gater Morgen.

It is two days ahead of the holidays, the two weeks to be spent in Italy, until the beginning of September.

Tiredness, it is too early in the morning, but the sun has risen by the time that the train reaches Moss Burg.

The river landscape is damp and foggy, clouds of steam rising from the streams meandering across the countryside and among the woods of The Moos burg Marshes. 

Stop it!! turn it off anyhow, somehow.

Dread the cheerful seaside melody from the small telephone by the bedside

Stop it!! turn it off anyhow, somehow.

Wash
This is awful, howling tinnitus, exhaustion, bad taste on the teeth.
Comb the hair, put the wallet into the shirt pocket.
Forget to include the mobile 'phone


Sick today, but go to  work
anyway

there is unusual activity in the main street, with people hurrying in all different dirctions. Thereis more activity everywhere.
More than usual
Dolores is at the bus stop, wish her good morning

Pay the driver, a bald-headed man with a moustache.

Strange, Dolores, who had got on first, offers a seat, without a word, with a bow. Why? There is no need. There are still enough free seats available.., and there would be no seat owing, anyhow. First on first served.

strange occurrence, an woman of maybe fifty offering a man of sixty a seat on a bus.

There is an woman in the bus, from Africa, dressed in a black trouser suit with her hair cut short, barely one centimetre long. She grins.

What is going on?.

Too tired and too sick to think about all of this any further. When the bus halts at the station, let the woman with the hair and the suit out first.

At the cafe, order a coffee, pay for it, listen to the short haired womans order being misunderstood. Instead of coffee, ham.

Puzzlement on the part of the woman, she had spoken clearly, after all. How could one mis- hear "Kaffee" for "Schinken"?

Letitbe.

after all.

See pictures on television of Gabriel erecting a middle finger,-pointing it at a Nazi protester.

        Have they all gone mad? 

Fumble unable and swipe

awake out of a deep sleep, the clamour from the mobile phone effective.
Fumble unable and swipe, then the noise

Is off.

There is no need for a shower today, last night was enough.

Brush the teeth.

gather the items needed for the day at work, this notebook, and leave the house..

The wife is awake today, that was the fault of the long drawn out

noise of the alarm clock

Dry day, a working Tuesday. The streets are deserted, they are completely empty of all people. The August holiday

season has hit.

But Dolores is back, looking sad, but:. Good morning

. She is back from holidays, and-though The day is not cold, she is dressed in a cape and head scarf

The smoker in his square at the station is wearing a

straw hat. Does this mean that it will be a warm day.

Inside the station the African men are shouting at each other, they have very loud voices, and both are clutching a bottle of beer each. They are young men, both angry.

Watch the silent television,
Donald Trump has made the news once more.
The sound is off, but going by the pictures he has once again commenced spouting some racial opinions in connection with a situation over which he' is ill informed. He is a colourful man., oh, a mad man.

Time for the train. On the way, see that the two men from Africa are now talking to two policemen, in broken French English and German. And they seem to be Ghanese. But there is no certitude

They were both very loud indeed, talking a language not understood by anybody, not in the station.

The train is full of loudly talking office workers, exchanging inane jokes.

Find another carriage, an empty one, a quiet one.

One that is not full of cruel laughter and self important conversationalists.

Just people who want to go to work, who need to get to work.

And are quitely trying to catch up on their too-short sleep.

Pack

pick up the bags, the camera, the tripod,leave the house.
Carry the things up the alley, away from the church, put them into the boot of the car, and take to the deserted streets.
How does the building look, the block with the ground in front of it excavated?

The sun has already risen too high, the building would need to have its picture taken almost before sunrise.
Leave it, leave it untill later.

Go on to the night club, it is throwing out its last raucous guests.
The long shot of the Angels bar in Landshut works out, against the light, early morning grey.
The wide shot- too late.
Leave it to the beginning of September.
There is a small group of very noisy people in front of Angel's now. They are calling a taxi, to get home with. They are all drunk, one man can barely come down the stairs, staggering.
A strange place.

Pack the camera
go home.

Leave the interface between the nights festivities and the days difficulties

Hiss fissy on the right. Madness.

one
late today
Sunday.

Hiss fissy on the right
Madness.

The son chases the cat through the house.
Screaming.

According to him, she has piddled on the floor in his room.
Calm all down.
A bit of kitchen paper.

Dip and sniff.
Fanta sugary smell.

The cat was not at fault.
It was an upset tin can.


Help to tidy the room.
End of Sunday hysteria

obrigado

happy.
satisfied
content

peace on a Saturday morning, eight twenty three.
Ticking of clocks, wooden floors and an open piano

The son and his piano practice, five minutes a day would be enough, four hours is too much!

The secretary sold to me by a man in Munich some years ago.
Yellow and brown veneers.
Not an antique, no famous furniture maker.
But nice

It is the peace of the early morning that is important.
The two french clocks telling the time, well away from the constructional limitations to their accuracy.
But they run, and what are a few seconds every month?

The cat calls, it would like feeding.

Two minutes have past,
Dong Dong from Martin's church, down the alley, the view always pictured by the tourists.
They show their appreciation by adding the image to their mobile 'phone's collection.
But there are none there today.

And now the others get up, sounds of the cat being fed.
Pouring coffee, from the pot made earlier,
the day will run it's course.

There will be a need to go to the bank, collect cash for the weeks obligations.
obrigado,

jeering sound of a hawk

Cat calls.
Leave the house on Martin's bells.
There is no knowing as to why the cat called.

Maybe it was locked out on the

balcony.

It is raining.
Cloudy.

Not raining hard, not even hard enough for the umbrella.
The hair is still damp from the shower, anyway.

.

The street is empty, the friday market has moved to another venue.

Listen to the jeering sound of a hawk, at the church tower.

There is no one at the bus stop, there are not even ducks on the wall to the river.

Exact change for the bus driver today, a fifty cent piece and three twentys.

Look at the noticeboard at the station, see that the train will be delayed for about

five minutes.
so.
take the coffee and write the first part of

this story in front of the near-silent television.

They are showing a film about an aircraft crash today 'The news ticker has news of bombs in the far East.

On the platform in the grey light, the sunlight

completely diffused by the low clouds, the pavement on the platform wet.

A young women with the most beautiful red hair gets into the Passau train.

she is studying her mobile telephone.

The crowd of Munich office workers is

on the platform as well.

But the Train is not in yet.
An announcement spoken over the loudspeakers informs that the train will be five minutes late

;

So what.

In Moosburg, a few people wait on the platform.
Monday is a holiday, there are fewer people at work today.

It is holiday season again.

The lights inside the train are a miserable yellow-

green, the landscape outside blue and grey.
, green

-and brown.

cut

II. August 2016.

Cut the lower lip shaving. Not serious, not a major problem.

But there are no sticky plasters to be found. So use a piece

of toilet paper, when the blood clots a bit it sticks,

Pick up the now-dried umbrella from the hall floor upon

leaving the house. Fold it whilst walking. Though the sun is

not yet over the horizon; it is bright. The church spire is

already lit in a ruddy light, reflected light from the sun now behind
the horizon to the east.

The river is roaring over the opened flood weir, yesterday's rain and that of last week is rushing on on it's journey to the Danube.

five

The bus arrives, the driver recites his good morning litany.

The change comes out of the machine.

Upon leaving the bus an overly made up woman, approaches, and appears bent on collision. This is strange

because the pavement is bare. Take a circuitous road to avoid that kind of confrontation.

smoker with pigtail, good morning
.

The woman, the very young woman at Yohma cafay

does not say a word, just presses a button and reaches

out her hand. so give her the money. No wild company today, no curt' good mornings.

The television is showing documentaries involving The aerial refuelling of military aircraft. The television has

a defect, the picture turns off every other minute.

for a few seconds.

Watch the sun rise behind the bridge from the platform

There are small magenta clouds of steam risen

from the cooling towers of the atomic reactor that is

situated some kilometres away to the east. The huge

towers are visible.

Cyditsts in shhouette cross the bridge.

The train is late today.

The white lady in Freising will complain about

the delay again.

As she has done in the past. Frequently, volubly.

For four years now.

The white lady was not in Freising.

ducks

10th August 2016

A man walking up the Alley, looking serious, staring. He is

here today only, and alone. He seems astonished to see

others on the street. Maybe he has been up all night.

Tiredness lets the streets drift by without detail.

At the bus stop, check the change for the bus driver.. There

is enough small money for the exact fare.

There are seven ducks sitting on the wall by the

river.

One by one they jump into the water, with a great

flapping of wings, until there are none.

Asleep and snoring behind his eye shade.

Sitting in the hallway, waiting for the ringing of the church bells, the bells for half past the hour.
Sit on the bench and wait, the automatic timed hall light switch turns the light off.
Sit on the bench and wait, in the dark.
Wait those five minutes, smelling the smell of dampness rising from the cellar.
There is the sound of cyclists passing outside, the tyres on the cobbled pavements making their typical noise.

Bell in the Martin's tower sounds twice.
Get up, and leave the house, close ing the door carefully, AVOID NOISE.

Walk along the dry street, stay on the cobbled surface,  not on the one with the flat red brick surfacing.
It is dark , and the sky is cloudy.

Good Morning to the woman who runs the discount bakery in Theater Street, returning her "Morgen".

Under the arch, where the town gates used to be.
The river is roaring loudly today, it is still transporting all the extra water from the Alps. On its way to the Danube, a junction at Dingolfing and on all the way to the Black Sea.

Board the bus, have the exact change ready.

At the station, greet the pigtail man with his cigarette, standing ther inside the yellow paint bordered square, a yellow box on the pavement.
The cafe is deserted. One serving girl in her blue shirt, arranging the cigarettes. One large coffee, and stand in the waiting room at one of those tall tables, watching television.
Some film about submarines.

On the way to the platform, there is the sudden sound of a heavy downpour of rain clattering on the station's glass and tin roof. See the sheets of rain falling upon the tracks, and soaking all of the rolling stock in the station.
A spectacular, impressing shower.

Down the steps, and along the tunnel. There is a large puddle of yellow liquid at the entrance to the stairwell.
The stairwell to Platform 6.
A smell of dog.
Canine incontinence. Dogs are allowed in public transport, and dogs will be dogs.

The train now passes through a deep green dimly lit landscape, freshly drenched by what now looks like a sudden change in the weather, not just a passing shower.


The train is peaceful, people are talking quietly. A man in a seat opposite has an eye cover on, to aid his sleeping. It's colour matches that of his trousers, a curious co-incidence. Ori is the man so dress conscious? Probably not. Brown shoes , blue tie, white pinstriped shirt, blue pinstripes.
Asleep and snoring behind his eye shade.

Mon, dont stare

leave the house in the clothes that had been laid out the night before, t'mustard coloured trousers, all in yellow and brown today.
It is darker out than last week, even thought the sky is clear.
The sun" not up yet, the sun is just allowing it's light to reflect off the shy.
The water is roaring over the weir today the river is full with the rain that came down over the mountains durint the now-past weekend.
There are ducks in the water, and on top of the walls along the empty promenades.
Who knows where-they came from-

The bus arrives, only person barding, the only man there apart from the driver.
The bus travellers are all spread about the bus, maintaining their zones of privacy to the greatest possible extent.


 Caught falling into  the eyes of a most beautiful young woman of African origin, she just sitting there holding her hand bag, tall and thin, neither staring nor looking away.
Look for a second, feel the mouth slacken, amazed.
Would like to look  more, admire : but " would i like to sit there gawping like a teenager".
with no manners and no decency.
Look down, her feet under the seat in front of her, don't stare.
.
sit back, close The eyes, it is early, we are all tired.
Still, what can be done . A person of beauty is all, is all.
That she is, a person. Not a picture.
Not to be troubled or disturbed look down when the eyes open.  At the next stop she leaves the bus, glance out at the window, see her light a cigarette as she stride along the street.
Cigarettes are ugly and childish, and so see that no one is perfect.
Good Mornint to the smoker, in his short trousers in front of the Railway station.
The man with the  pigtail.
coffee and the silent television, the news ticker at the bottom of the screen.
News that the Turkish president has accused Germany of being undemocratic.  Oh well, Turkey as the lemon haven of populism.
The sun is barely risen as the Train comes into the station, slowly moving to its resting place at  the platform.
There is the silhouette of a cyclist on the distant bridge over the tracks,

Day of bells

Sunday, light shining in through the open window, bright and light. It is late.

the sound of an untuned radio, grumbling and crackling in the next room. this is the sons room, the sons radio alarm. Faithfully working, It is school holidays now, but it has not been turned off.

The cat hunts for attention, demands feeding.

It jumps onto the card table by the window, and then to the window ledge itself.

Mail.

A physics professor wants a spelling mistake corrected .

In a paper from 1975.

It took him longer to write the letter than it did to alter the document.

Send it back, and hope that this does not get to be a habit.

And the oven is humming

hot air for the sunday morning rolls

Sunday Sundry

The cat walking across the kitchen floor.

Takes a sudden vertical leap as the alarm sounds, jangling, mechanical

And then continues across the floor.

four legs working under hips and shoulders swaying gently,

Intent upon the now filled bowl.

direito

peace and quiet on a saturday morning, waiting for the family noise to start. Silence, but for the rumbling noixes of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the reqular clicking of the French electric clock and the occasional rumble of passing cars outside.
drink some water.

Quiet.

Pet the cat, it seems to love the quiet as well.


There will be things to do later.

And there is still that hissing noise in the right ear

small crowd, of smokers and drinkers

        Friday 4 August two thousand and sixteen.

        Wet outside, the relaxing sound of drops in the dark, that rain drizzling down slowly, the sound of water in the drains.

        Outside.

        On the signal get up, as always, and wash. Raincoat day today.

        There is no cat, it has probably found somewhere else to sleep. Maybe in the sons room.

        Down the stairs, into the dark alley. There is low heavy cloud today, letting out a steady light rain. Heavy downpours are forecast for today,.

        Sodden glistening streets, reflecting the different colour. of lamplight. All the little slippery stone squares

        Take the punctual bus to the station, pass all the sleeping business and the buildings with all the sleeping people. The tyres are loud with the wet, the air in the bus is humid and warm.

        Because of the rain, the railway station forecourt is bereft of it's usual crowd, 

well........,

 small crowd, of smokers and drinkers.

        The Indian girl in the café smiles happily, the man with the shaven hair takes the order and the money.

        go directly out to the Train, it is already waiting on platform four, empty, as yet.

        Find a seat, and write this account, till the

- train is ready to move on through. a grey dim

miserable rainy landscape, all the crops either growing or harvested.

The colours are all blackened, and dim, the lack of light, and it's near complete lack of direction. 

breaking,. has broken.

ThursdayAugust 4

stop in front of the door, a picture of the church. Having lefthe house with all its alarm clocks and comforts behind. Realise that it is too early. The church and the lamps of night before it meant a nice picture.

Here it is.

The bus stop is deserted, the lights gone out. A bakery truck passes, a few cyclists. And all those early morning drivers heading to work.

There are few details today, the sun just risen by the time the bus arrives at the station. There is the friendly smoker with the pigtail, or pony tail.

After getting the morning coffee go straight out to the waiting train, and find a seat. The person in charge of the train has unlocked the doors early today.

Just before Moosiburg, the journey goes through a wooded landscape mss crossed by two rivers meanders. The rivers are lightly rippled sluggish meanders coloured a metallic grey green by the reflection of the sky and the trees.

A quiet scene for a painter.

After leaving Modbury, the rivers are all steaming, the fields are covered with low fog. As the train is elevated on its embankment, only the tree tops are clearly visible poking out of the fog.

This is a daily cross section of the mornings journey jus t as the day is breaking,. has broken. 

forty one years later

Wednesday August

Stumble, cold. No, a running nose. And a sore throat.

Oh well, get up anyway.

start is bad, the toilet flush is broken, it has been running all night. Carelessness.

Wash, shave. Search for clothing.

This is a bad day, it starts badly. Leave the lights off, find clothes in the dark.

There is a man eating a banana at the bus stop, his banana at five forty. A tall man with a rucksack.

Take the coffee from the railway coffee, after the bus, after the good morning to the man with the pony tail (it has grown) and alter all-why bother?..

Platform four, the train is standing there already, doors looked, dark. The doors open later, and that is it. Board the train, the empty trains.

Things are becoming difficult, and the long journey over the green and brown plains under a blue shy with yellow whirls and contrails and grey clouds on the horizon does not help.

Things are formless, difficult;

Unpleasant. 

He He He

Tuesday

leave the house late, the alley is cooler than yesterday, the street

lights are on, just like yesterday. Feelings are not the most

present or important thing now. There is a man coming approaching

on the opposite side of the alley. He is yawning.

He passes by.

The bus stop is deserted.

The river is red in the light reflected from the dawn

sky, now bright enough to turn off the street lamps.
A red,

coppery river, early cyclists.

Bus comes now, have the exact change.

There is a man, very drunk at the station cafe.

He
is returning empty drink containers for the deposit.
He

has a rough voice, unclear speech.

He
gets his money, and goes away.

Starts to roar at the café supervisor

go directly to the train today. The train almost empty.

The tracks are being repaired,
between Landshut and Passau, the train only travels

between Munich and Landshut. There are no rail services beyond any more.

The weather.is dim end it is cold. It is early, ans

'there is no wish at all to go to work,

First of August

Get up and shower it is a weekday, a day to  work on.
Hot water to start the day with, more than a ritual cleansing The clothing from the wardrobe, check that the keys, the wallet, the mobile telephone, the pen and the paper are all in the bag.
Also the small camera lens.
And the plastic envelope with the photographic cards in it.
And the umbrella.
All complete, all ready to go.
The streets are lit, the lighting is still on, it is not really light yet.
At the town gate the lights all go off, it is now light enough to see by.
Apart from some pigeons, pecking at the cracks in the pavement, between-the cobblestones, the bus stop is deserted.
wait, look at the pigeons and the sea galls.
It da not appear to be the right season for ducks, they are probably up in the cooler north.
.
The bus driver is a novice, a trainer behind him seeing that everything has been done right, and that no mistakes are being made.
There is the smoker at the station, Good Morning, hurry past.
Wait at the cafe, there is the young girl with  the Base dow eyes, all on her own, serving all, after all is done go straight out to the train, it is waiting.

Now in the train, the train waiting on platform four.
There are a few people to be seen standing on platform six, the usual platform, the one mentioned on the timetable.
They are waiting for a train that will not come, and there is no-one to inform them.

Wave.
Strange looks.

.
Sunlight at a low angle, illuminating fields and houses.
A clear blue sky, apart from a few small fluff clouds.
A day to go to work on.