Saturday night did not work out, so early to bed and early to rise today, to the sound of a buzzing alarm clock early.
Sons day, he is off to a skiing event with the school, they are starting early, he has to be ready. The sons alarm clock sounds as well. Rest a while, the son and the wife are rushing about.
Then get up, it is only ten minutes later.
The son gives a hug in passing on his way to the bathroom.
Put the clothes on for the day, the new black jacket, the black trousers. The son excited, can barely eat his breakfast, his two bags and his jacket, the jacket containing his passport and his purse.
Give him some extra money for his purse, maybe he will need it.
They are going to Austria, his passport is his only official identification.
They will go up the mountains to play in the snow there, to learn how to slide down the mountain with boards strapped to their shoes
Then it is time
Accompany him on his way through the town, down the alley, past the church. and into the main street deserted but for two men in orange overalls cleaning yesterdays litter from between the benches parked at the side of the way. They are working on Sundays, using their brooms of bound twigs to great effect.
Cross the road, and down the tiny alley, pass the statue of the emaciated woman, a sculpture in bronze. Down to the federal link road, and on to the traffic signal regulated pedestrian crossing. The son is carrying a blue bag from Ikea, the little orange trolley suitcase follows on behind. On the way, two big blue coaches pass, the one with a trailer in tow.
And then the big parking lot at the river, there thoe coaches are again, waiting, surrounded by parents teachers and children. Not many, it is early yet.
Fifty yards from the coach and the group, the son stops and thanks for the company, the wheeling of the trolley.
It is clear, he wants to be alone with his school friends, no disturbing parents, independence, a school affair, his own business.
Understand.
So that is in order, turn and go.
Return, walk through the deserted town with all it's closed doors, not even the cafés are starting to open up their doors yet.
Read the gravestones attached to the church wall on the way.
They are old gravestones with careful engraving.
They are resored, well kept.
The oldest person inscribed theron was sixty-eight years old.
This Jacket
No a latin inscription.
It means "Here lies...."
HIC JACET
Sons day, he is off to a skiing event with the school, they are starting early, he has to be ready. The sons alarm clock sounds as well. Rest a while, the son and the wife are rushing about.
Then get up, it is only ten minutes later.
The son gives a hug in passing on his way to the bathroom.
Put the clothes on for the day, the new black jacket, the black trousers. The son excited, can barely eat his breakfast, his two bags and his jacket, the jacket containing his passport and his purse.
Give him some extra money for his purse, maybe he will need it.
They are going to Austria, his passport is his only official identification.
They will go up the mountains to play in the snow there, to learn how to slide down the mountain with boards strapped to their shoes
Then it is time
Accompany him on his way through the town, down the alley, past the church. and into the main street deserted but for two men in orange overalls cleaning yesterdays litter from between the benches parked at the side of the way. They are working on Sundays, using their brooms of bound twigs to great effect.
Cross the road, and down the tiny alley, pass the statue of the emaciated woman, a sculpture in bronze. Down to the federal link road, and on to the traffic signal regulated pedestrian crossing. The son is carrying a blue bag from Ikea, the little orange trolley suitcase follows on behind. On the way, two big blue coaches pass, the one with a trailer in tow.
And then the big parking lot at the river, there thoe coaches are again, waiting, surrounded by parents teachers and children. Not many, it is early yet.
Fifty yards from the coach and the group, the son stops and thanks for the company, the wheeling of the trolley.
It is clear, he wants to be alone with his school friends, no disturbing parents, independence, a school affair, his own business.
Understand.
So that is in order, turn and go.
Return, walk through the deserted town with all it's closed doors, not even the cafés are starting to open up their doors yet.
Read the gravestones attached to the church wall on the way.
They are old gravestones with careful engraving.
They are resored, well kept.
The oldest person inscribed theron was sixty-eight years old.
This Jacket
No a latin inscription.
It means "Here lies...."
HIC JACET
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