Wednesday, 11 March 2015

The Next Morning

I remember when I walked to work nearly every day that summer in drizzle, sunshine, or gales. Along the suburban streets down the main road and through the park. Thoughts of you and me and everyone else played out in my mind to the beats and drops of my music. I can't say I enjoyed it very much – especially in the rain. But the walk gave me time to think everything over.

Once in a while I was hungover and my head dropped and my feet staggered: this meant a specific melancholy. I was too small for my life and the figures, dreams and fears hung over me like the lolling trees.

The park gates opened into an expanse of fields and sporadic patches of forest. I remember reading how Adam awoke in Eden, Eve begotten, and travelled the land naming all the animals.

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