Ground Coffee

Almost no wind. 3900 light years If it wasn’t for the tiny un-rhythmic movement in the thinnest branches of the tall trees no one would blame you for thinking that the air had fallen asleep. The heat is like a bell or a heavy carpet weighing everything down. The swallows from the Big Dog having nests under the gutters come and leave, come and leave to feed their chicks. Quite understandable. The heat is probably different to them and they have a lot of growing to do before they head off to Africa later this year.

I greet the woman downstairs sitting in the shade smoking. We agree that this kind of heat is ground coffee intolerable and I go back into my apartment for yet another shower.

…

Matins – or: The Origin of Rain

matins

The world rises into view and form through the morning fog. That’s (apparently) the ritual; how days (or just the same day repeated) are stacked one on top the other until they reach … what? He looks at the musical sheets he filled with notes and notes on how to play them the night before, she sits at her table making noises with the pen against paper in her usual rage. She’s fighting for many. He’s fighting on his own and coughs up a little blood. This damned fog.

ora pro nobis

Where the monk kept his memento mori skull a wobbly tower of his and her scribbles threatens to fall over. A hooded shadow walks through the room and through him. He’s sure she doesn’t see it. It’s for him. Outside the orange and almond trees have taken shape but it’s not the season for blooms or fruit. Everything is held back as a possibility.

should do it

Then his piano starts raining.