Friday, May 25, 2007

There is this kerb I pass by on my way home, it borders a pavement and a stretch of grass. Its along the car park and its about 20 metres long. Everyday, without fail, I will step on it and balance and walk my way down, regardless of people around me, weather, or cats blocking the way.

When I'm walking along it, I could be exploring a cliff somewhere in the Alps, I could be crossing a stream amongst the prairies of North America, or it could be a plank that bridges the skyship and the harbour-tree.

I listen to the wind soughing in the trees, the sounds coming from the hill beside me, the sound of my footsteps - and if I am lucky, the patter of rain. Tropical climates are such a bore, what fun it must be to wear scarfs and cardigans, to splash through puddles in galoshes, and to carry an umbrella when it drizzles. It must be nice to feel the crunching of snow under ones feet, to walk, forever and ever, under the endless prismatic sky.

And then I reach the end, and I am home.