White light out, white like cotton wool, white and soft, all the soft edged shadows just under the window ledges light and transparent, the sky a sheet of white cloud.
Where does the light come from? It fills the room, unclear as to where to go, undecided.
Muse.
Out, as in outside.
Inside, fresh coffee and the son off too school for eight in the morning.
The sound of compressors outside, the workmen fitting new pipes to provide heating to the newly renovated houses in the street.
This is the last of the lazy mornings, all the overtime blown in relaxation, the time not at work gone faster than the time working.
Still- sit in the wooden room, the one with the wooden floors and the wooden doors, wooden furniture too. There is the sound of car doors slamming outside, the hum of motors.
This is a day free of work, a day to relax upon.
And now, just past nine, the sun is out and shining, the shadows are tighter and harder.
Where does the light come from? It fills the room, unclear as to where to go, undecided.
Muse.
Out, as in outside.
Inside, fresh coffee and the son off too school for eight in the morning.
The sound of compressors outside, the workmen fitting new pipes to provide heating to the newly renovated houses in the street.
This is the last of the lazy mornings, all the overtime blown in relaxation, the time not at work gone faster than the time working.
Still- sit in the wooden room, the one with the wooden floors and the wooden doors, wooden furniture too. There is the sound of car doors slamming outside, the hum of motors.
This is a day free of work, a day to relax upon.
And now, just past nine, the sun is out and shining, the shadows are tighter and harder.
No comments:
Post a Comment