November 9, 2021


Not a cloud in the sky. Blue.


A clear morning, like my mind.

On my lap, Yannick, quiet, enjoying the morning, as I did.

The woman in the distance, presumed to be Bosnian, working on the garden she has made from common land. She is building a wooden enclosure, for what I can see. I have a look, later.

I ate a portion of Tiramisu, the supermarket variety. I wonder how it would taste, how it would be, if home made. Maybe the alcohol on it made me kind of addicted. Maybe not.

I am writing because I like to write, because I have not written anything for a while, because I want to get rid of the spider webs clouding my brain, because I am getting older.

I see on social media Greta getting pissed off with the so called negotiators on international climate gatherings giving way to fossil fuels companies’ representatives, who put the interest of their companies akin to those of the planet. Looking at how they behave, looking at how people behave, looking at Greta, in the back of my mind I cannot stop thinking that the ability of Earth to sustain life as we know it is fucked. By our actions.

Yet, the sky was of a brilliant blue shade, this morning.


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