Skip to content

city with a view

04/07/2010

In summer he rambles at midnight. He cracks a branch from the mango tree growing tall by the verandah, eases his way down the steps in the dark and chooses a different direction from the night before. Usually it is because he cannot sleep in the heat, and although the air outside is just as hot and heavy, he wades through it deliberately, savouring it as though it is melted chocolate, wrapping it around him like a cloak. He sweats and is alive. He is invincible.
But in winter, it is the early morning light he pursues. It is the air, the sky, so crisp it is white, like the frost on the ground. The morning chill is sharp, hanging before him like a pane of glass, and he moves briskly, smashes through it, lets it tear him up. It is the sting to the eyes, the brittle tip of the nose. He pushes his sleeves to his elbows, drives harder, and when he makes it to the top of the point, with the gleaming cliffs below him, he exhales loudly and stops. It is the river, so still, and the boats awaiting the day.

Find out more about this Hello Sunday stroll.

Advertisements
No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: