the cold is nasty, creeping into the back by way of the waist, over the belt and under the shirt somehow. Put on a black jacket left by the job, still with their logo, and warm too. A present from work. No, lifted from work. But they do not care.
It is late, it is ten in the morning, and it is time to take the walk. The son is working in the workshop, attempting to weld together a tool to help him repair his car. His car is a ruin of a vehicle, sixty years old, built in Eastern Germany as a cheap transport solution for the populace. A socialist car, quite minimalistic in every way. Tell him to keep a fire extinguisher handy close by whilst he is welding and angle grinding, because of the combination of sparks and containers of combustible fluids in the workshop.
It is cold and clammy today, the kind of horrible cold that does not really show on a thermometer. Walk up the piano of the oxen, the only oxen being the tourists walking ahead. They are making up theories about oxen climbing these stairs. Imagine the now-pristine stairs covered in bovine leavings, as would surely happen if a herd was driven up this narrow path. The ridges in the path would prevent the animals and the people slipping.
It is easy to be out of breath today, realise that the medicine has been forgotten, the pills have not been taken. It probably does not matter.
Later it starts to rain. Take a picture of a gravel path in an orchard. There is something very nice about it, but it is hard to say what it is.
Here:
It starts to rain, the sky closes in. The jacket taken from work is waterproof, they were mindful of quality.
Shorten the walk, it is wet and miserable, and who cares?
Only nine kilometres today, that is nothing much. But the weather is so nasty, it is just not nice.
No comments:
Post a Comment