seventh Sunday

There is the sound of the ticking clock, the electromagnetic Brillie clock.
ta tick ta tick.
Otherewise there is silence in the flat, there is silence in the street outside.
Eight in the morning.
Whit Sunday.
All have gone on their holidays.
The town is silent
no cars to be heard outside
on this bright sunny summer Sunday.
The family is asleep, but for one sitting at his computer
writing notes
Looking at the chaos in the sitting room
this is not as bad as on other days
There is enough there to look bad, but not so much that it is impossible to deal with.


But the silence is fantastic
Silence from the road outside
The silence of people sleeping

Just the occasional call of a crow
and there is a rumble of rubber car tyres on a cobbled street , distant, fading.

make a cup of coffee
and enjoy the peace and quiet