She jolts awake, instantly alert. Would never normally see this time of day on a Saturday. She gathers the last of her possessions and stuffs them into the leaning suitcase. Shuffling through the freshly laid snow she pulls the corrugated iron door and dumps the plastic bags of rubbish. Only the dim, squinting light punctures the path as she makes her way back. She sits and sips her frothing tea, watching the clock fingers hesitate. Turns off the lights and says goodbye, turns the key and walks away. Stands and waits in the stirring chill, inhaling the fresh, untarnished morning. A sketchy outline scrapes the snow, clearing the ground. She sees the surface and slides away to her next destination.
Thursday, 8 December 2011
The Hour
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People who can say that have never understood a thing about life—they have never felt its breath, its heartbeat—however much they have seen or done. They look on it as a lump of raw material that needs to be processed by them, to be ennobled by their touch. But life is never a material, a substance to be molded. If you want to know, life is the principle of self-renewal, it is constantly renewing and remaking and changing and transfiguring itself, it is infinitely beyond your or my obtuse theories about it......
ReplyDeleteA Dr Zhivago quote.... Boris Pasternak!
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