It really was the strangest thing, and I think it all started with the weather. It was a miserable day, nothing out of the ordinary but as the sun began to set it began to blare. A warm amber glow came through the clouds contrasted against the bright blue behind, the type of blue that only happens after the sky has been emptied. Regardless, I was on the bus home daydreaming about nothing looking out the window as the council estate passed by. I wasn’t being particularly nosey, nor did I care to be, I was just looking into the front windows filled with the void of, well, a glaring window. Then a house passed by and a man was sitting facing the window as if the pane was his television. But he looked odd, almost placid, void of any emotion or expression. I can’t determine if it was the sun playing coy with the double glazing - mind you in that neighbourhood it was probably single - or he was dead. Improbable, but I cannot get that waxy bald figure out of my head. If he was not gone what could he be so transfixed on? Was he just happy to have a front row seat to a remarkable sundown? Maybe he was just refining his knowledge of neighbourhood gossip, but he looked as if he had been in that palsy for days. Mind you this was all in a passing second. I must go back to see if he is still there, or at least check this week’s obituaries.
cultybraggan camp.
spirograph sundays.
THE BARRAS
GROWED UP BORROWERS I ASK YOU END THIS STORY
contrast of peach colored houses against blue sky trafficy on renfrew
your friends are getting old and fat. settling down with their equivalents in girl/boy form. you should be embarrassed. what happen to duende, mental energy, sadness and the opposite (whatever), burning in the belly and…
(Source: alimitedtimeonly)
happy birthday jewballz.
NEWS and VIEWS v.
As you know, for the last two summers we have gone up to Pitt Lake, about 30 miles east of Vancouver, and spent a week’s vacation. Last Year we took a row boat and canoe, but this year Cee and I bought a dandy 16 foot canoe; so we were two couples, two canoes. The Red Fir 3 took us up at night to the lake; food, canoes, sleeping bags and all, and here is the tug boat going upstream.
(He came back to Vancouver, 30 miles, by canoe, in 7 hours one sweltering Sunday.)
Below is the cabin (properly called shack) when we stay. Protruding from the doorway are Lee, Joan, and Betty in the sweater, in front.
Though the lake is not far from the city, it is really in the wilds. There is no way to reach it other than by boat or plane. In fact, we saw one lone person during the entire week this summer, and I’m sure he was either lost, or insane, or both.
[see page eighteen for pictures].
sunday dreaming.
take me to the woods.
