Tag: road trip
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8.10: A Six Sentence Story
The Small Matter at the Aire de la Clermont-Ferrand Rest Stop The cubicle door springs open with a bang, and a woman emerges; our eyes meet in a flash of mutually accusatory side-eye, wads of loo roll fill both of her hands. “French toilets,” she drawls with a weary little heaven-tilt of the head, the…
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26 July: of Leather & Weather
a journal 26 July — The Road Trip Prelude 04:somethingThe sun arrived first,prying open the day with gold-tipped fingers.I gathered dew from the garden — tiny pearls of morning —then let sleep pull me back like a tide reclaiming shells. 07:30Bamboo.Not a sentence — just a word.A baptism by syllable.It struck the silence like a…
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25 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
25.09.23 Driving South Along the Mosel River 7:25Fog licks the morning in curls, and rides like wingless birds on grapevines. Hushed on terraced steps. River reflections that come for solitude. This is the Mosel River. 8:00The old church tower is a spike into time. We are small. Solitary. Rising essence of water, we are this.…
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22 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
21.09.23 (563 words: reading time 3 minutes) 09:57Cows find their way on to fields where they shouldn’t. It is life beyond language. 10:00Hay stacked in blocks of henges. The next farm, rolls ambered disks. Like fallen moons. Grounded on a field. With cows. Wind haunts the air. 10:20Birch. Curvaceous green in the wind. Air is…
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20 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
19.09.23 08:10The rain is a tantrum. It’s dashing itself against the window as if it were a ship on the rocks. He’s staring at it. It will pass, he says. You sound like Nostradamus, I tell him. Or Moses parting water. 08:15He’s still standing at the window. Looking. Rain and sea. Wind in syllables. This…
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17 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
16.09.23 07:50 (Münster, Germany)Breakfast: Birchers (overnight oats) made with yogurt and blueberries. It sticks to your ribs. He says, It’s also stuck on my t-shirt. 08:10“Oh, look,” he says, “there’s a young person! What’s he doing here?” I tell him, He’s probably selling walking sticks. It’s off-peak rates again. Pensioners on the move. Come September,…
It's Still Life 