April 27
The cat comes into the dark room, purring, rubbing its head against the furniture. The bony head
scratches against the leg of the bed, the purr changes
tone. The mobile 'phone buzzes, and starts to play
that seaside melody.
Get up, go to the shower.
Something to wake up to.
And then shave the stubble from the face. The cat is purring still, let her out into the hall. It is so early in the morning, and it it raining too. Leave the house, the lane is dark, the sinister alley.
There are bakery trucks delivering refrigerated bread to the various bakeries in the main street.
Say good morning to Dolores at the bus stop and then, minutes later a car arrives, stops .The driver leans over to the right and taps on the window, she looks up, and goes to the car with her swaying gait. She gets in, fastens her seat belt, and they drive off.
The bus arrives, pay the driver. sit down, there are free seats today at the front of the bus.
And later, at the railway station, get that large cup of coffee, as every day. Hopefully, it is better today than yesterday
sit down opposite the Hedgehog man in his blue overall, reading his newspaper.
He seems happy enough, a woman pains hi and starts to chat.
And then, at six in the morning, one hour into the day, leave the cafe for the train. The cafe is being converted, the internet part is being closed down. No matter.
After the train has arrived at platform six, and a seat has been found, continue to write this journal. These notes, sometimes a joy and sometimes a chore.
The trees outside, to are still almost bare, their black trunks, branches, and twigs with scant green trimmings. And the rain continues, the river is brown and swollen. These things are visible from the dry interior of the carriage, these things just pass by "windows.
Grating-faced parking-house in Moosburg, the train halting, halts. People get on – more commuters. More views - green conifer forest on one side, open fields on the other. the Train will arrive in Freising after passing all of these smaller villages on the way.
Passes through the polished german landscape, a landscape wet through, a landscape reduced to a primitif painting by the avid work of the farmers.
Something to wake up to.
And then shave the stubble from the face. The cat is purring still, let her out into the hall. It is so early in the morning, and it it raining too. Leave the house, the lane is dark, the sinister alley.
There are bakery trucks delivering refrigerated bread to the various bakeries in the main street.
Say good morning to Dolores at the bus stop and then, minutes later a car arrives, stops .The driver leans over to the right and taps on the window, she looks up, and goes to the car with her swaying gait. She gets in, fastens her seat belt, and they drive off.
The bus arrives, pay the driver. sit down, there are free seats today at the front of the bus.
And later, at the railway station, get that large cup of coffee, as every day. Hopefully, it is better today than yesterday
sit down opposite the Hedgehog man in his blue overall, reading his newspaper.
He seems happy enough, a woman pains hi and starts to chat.
And then, at six in the morning, one hour into the day, leave the cafe for the train. The cafe is being converted, the internet part is being closed down. No matter.
After the train has arrived at platform six, and a seat has been found, continue to write this journal. These notes, sometimes a joy and sometimes a chore.
The trees outside, to are still almost bare, their black trunks, branches, and twigs with scant green trimmings. And the rain continues, the river is brown and swollen. These things are visible from the dry interior of the carriage, these things just pass by "windows.
Grating-faced parking-house in Moosburg, the train halting, halts. People get on – more commuters. More views - green conifer forest on one side, open fields on the other. the Train will arrive in Freising after passing all of these smaller villages on the way.
Passes through the polished german landscape, a landscape wet through, a landscape reduced to a primitif painting by the avid work of the farmers.
No comments:
Post a Comment