WAIT TILL IT CRACKS

When I stepped out for a bit this morning it was still dark on the street. Down at the corner someone was apathetically making crazy person noises, closer-by the old gentleman who owns the Morris Mini always parked opposite and his wife were packing stuff into the car and driving off. Mrs. Siu was walking the dachshund. We said good morning. Other than that, it was quiet.

Somewhat hazy. Not particularly cold.

Alarm. Bathroom. Pills. Coffee. Smoke.

Set rituals. The world could end tomorrow, but those things would have to happen first. Delay the apocalypse till I'm fully awake, please, or I shall be very grouchy and may say something short about it.

For some reason I was thinking about a café on the Market Square in Valkenswaard, and remembering the smells. Strong coffee. Dark shag tobacco. Rain outside and autumn leaves. The air here is seldom laden with tannic odours, it's not so oaken or peatish, nor as moist. Dawn takes less time here.

Still two more weeks till the solstice and the drunken orgies of Santacon. Then the nights will start getting shorter again.

When it's light earlier there are more dog walkers at this hour, and the street people are less quiescent. I prefer it the way it is now. I am not social enough for large numbers of people, and tend to walk further uphill where they are few then.

Sometimes it rains. The street seen from the portico downstairs can be beautiful then.

Whisps of smoke curl upwards. Virginia, Perique.

Time for more coffee.



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