two bells

Mon, 8 April 2019

after sleeping well, turn off the strumming

noise of the alarm clock on the tablet computer.

Take a shower. With a sudden blast of water the shower head frees itself of lime.

Brush the teeth, back to the bedroom. Find the clothing in the wardrobe. Wardrobe:

a keeper of clothes, of robes.

Leave the house and walk over the grey cold dry cobbles just as the bells of saint Martins church sound twice. That is for the half hour, leath uair tar eis a sé-,

half past six.

There are ducks at the town gate, they are eating breadcrumbs, and larger bits of bread that have been spread there. As the human form approaches, a pair of ducks take to noisy flight. They hurtle into the dark, avoiding trees, fleeing towards the river. The bus stop is deserted, there is no one there yet, the bus is due to depart in seven minutes. The taxi driver arrives, say good morning. Read the news, read that Trump has few friends, and wonder.

The smoker is at the railway station.

Good Morning, and there is a long queue at the coffee counter. Take the full paper mug to the platform, finish it in the train.