It had been another chill night, but as
soon as the sun rose over Mont Olympe hill, temperatures would quickly climb to
t-shirt levels. The first hour or so, he had been sitting in his car, drinking
instant coffee and reading a book, glancing anxious looks at the surrounding
natural landscape. He would describe it in a letter:
“It is good to be here. There are some things that make it hard though… by Jove there are. My mind, my mood for starters. I mostly blame the light for this. It is transitioning into Autumn… You can see it just by looking at the sun, the way it shyly shines and feebly sparkles… the piercing colour of the light and the pallid blue of the sky. Furthermore by the subdued dewdrops on the morbid lawns and the leaves swinging on the trees. They’re hanging on, and fighting against their old enemies Fall & Rot. I am feeling quite morbid myself, I’m afraid, in line with nature and the atmosphere of this place and this trip...”
However, as soon as the coffee was finished and a bit of stale old bread eaten, he would get up and go for a long walk along the Meuse. The river lay soothing, ancient and placid, fuming in the cold morning light. The white sun flattened all colours and disarmed the land. With time space dismantled, the land turned into a peepshow. He walked for miles.
“It is good to be here. There are some things that make it hard though… by Jove there are. My mind, my mood for starters. I mostly blame the light for this. It is transitioning into Autumn… You can see it just by looking at the sun, the way it shyly shines and feebly sparkles… the piercing colour of the light and the pallid blue of the sky. Furthermore by the subdued dewdrops on the morbid lawns and the leaves swinging on the trees. They’re hanging on, and fighting against their old enemies Fall & Rot. I am feeling quite morbid myself, I’m afraid, in line with nature and the atmosphere of this place and this trip...”
However, as soon as the coffee was finished and a bit of stale old bread eaten, he would get up and go for a long walk along the Meuse. The river lay soothing, ancient and placid, fuming in the cold morning light. The white sun flattened all colours and disarmed the land. With time space dismantled, the land turned into a peepshow. He walked for miles.
Going nowhere. Just downstream to see the other end of you, my friend. If
I follow you long enough, we will cross two borders and arrive at my brother’s
house. From the Mont Olympe where we shake our hair till the netherest of the Netherlands.
Together we give new meaning to the words. You speak true, my friend underneath
this sapphire down… Glowing, flowing, emerald wilderness, wonderful and curling,
biscuity cavorting, almondy flowerbeds, mademoiselle… But the light, my friend,
the light is an army of parabolic shields, burning us to a fine dust and ashes.
And you can offer me no protection underneath. We cannot breath the same ether.
Dare I say this fierce light even seems to please you. Do you fear living in a
glass box? Why do you now hold your tongue… and stream away from me? What
happened, my speechless friend? Have I done wrong? Where are you going? This is
the end of ends…
No comments:
Post a Comment