October is chilly, or - in exile
I fancy that I catch glimpses of patchy red bricks through the grey. Clammy and cold, the air shrouds the files and binders and worktops, letting me turn them into different planes in my mind, similar but much more familiar – some broken computers, a languishing notice-board, piles of books to be read and no essays yet, fuck! Writer’s block! Drawers with labels, labels that change every year in august.
Cousins of these grey clouds frame chimney urns on the rooftop of a make-do nursery in a converted chapel at Aldwych, chimney urns shaped like men’s heads, which I would always shake my head at, and never wonder about, since they would be there again tomorrow, to wonder at.
In this weather I can pretend that beyond this window near me is a composite skyline, Gherkin and steeple, making an urban backdrop for a street, and another, a coffee bar, a church with wild jangly bells at 6pm, a busy road, a steep incline, some steps, a temple, and then the embankment opens ahead! (Contradicting the first person POV,) I can faintly see a grey hood bouncing ahead, as someone skips and trips over their own feet on their way home, pausing awhile to speak to the grey river, which mirrors the sky and displays the brown silt at the same time, somehow turning the scene non-gloomy.
Cousins of these grey clouds frame chimney urns on the rooftop of a make-do nursery in a converted chapel at Aldwych, chimney urns shaped like men’s heads, which I would always shake my head at, and never wonder about, since they would be there again tomorrow, to wonder at.
In this weather I can pretend that beyond this window near me is a composite skyline, Gherkin and steeple, making an urban backdrop for a street, and another, a coffee bar, a church with wild jangly bells at 6pm, a busy road, a steep incline, some steps, a temple, and then the embankment opens ahead! (Contradicting the first person POV,) I can faintly see a grey hood bouncing ahead, as someone skips and trips over their own feet on their way home, pausing awhile to speak to the grey river, which mirrors the sky and displays the brown silt at the same time, somehow turning the scene non-gloomy.
The misty air clouds space and time, and I can play that I am there again. Well I was, I used to be, I did, I had. Lots don’t ever.
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noordseal.