Rain, very welcome, the sound of the drops falling on the leaves outside the window. That is something relaxing, cool, the air is rich and breathable.
There is no other sound but the sound of bells outside. The distant sound, then closer ones.
And somebody is listening to music in the neighbourhood, hear the sound of the loudspeaker music muffled by the walls of the surrounding buildings.
An aircraft flies past overhead, the sound of jet engines.
And there are more sunday church bells in the distance, the churches calling the remaining faithful to prayer in the nearly empty churches.
Another aircraft overhead.
Holiday makers returning on a Sunday
To be ready for work on the coming Monday.
Sit in the bedroom, at the small secretaire abattant,
type away at the silver machine
a few short notes to start the day.
more bells
The wife is asleep
the coffee made
The son is playing at his computer.
Time is creeping on
and the soggy weight of foul depression has lifted
do not call it out, for it will be back
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