Friday, April 21, 2017

blown sphere









It was night. The baby was sleeping soundly,  half in the world. The mother lay in the bed, feeling exhausted, as sleep came over her. Her partner slept deeply, exhausted.


The earth rotated, moving the stars through the branches.


The man was drawn back to consciousness by the need for a pee. He rose unsteadily, put the living-room light on in passing. He left the toilet door open and peed in shadow, half asleep. Even so, he had a good idea about a book he was reading.

Three or four cats, near enough, aware of each other. At the approach of the van, they were disturbed. They moved apart. One scampered. One stalked away. But they remembered. Missing out. They circulated. They saw. At a distance. They sat.

They were asleep. They had been ill all holiday. Now they were both back at school, and the boy went to nursery. He was an early riser. He had his own truck.


The whole city was asleep, but there were always a few trucks, the police... 

She got out of bed, leaving him ticking in his throat. Often, nowadays, she couldn't sleep. She felt the migraine on the border of her day. Might it pass her by? She padded down to the kitchen with her book. She made a small, very mild, instant coffee; tea gave her a migraine. She read the reminders in her own handwriting.  She thought about Jocelyn and the funeral.

He sat at the desk, half-asleep, and read: own pace in life, is trustworthy, loya & diplomatic. samsung. from responsible sources. can kill your unborn child. watercolo. 36g. Equatoria.

He was driving. He was home at last. The estate was quiet although there were a few lights on. Some people might be speeding or on their consoles. In one of the gardens was a moving shadow. That was normal. His gate was open. He decided not to close it in case it disturbed the dog upstairs. Cherry blossom on the path. Did it fall at night?


















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