A story never played

Coach

She was walking by the long distance coach, not noticing the intense eyes of the man through the window glass.

Very early in the morning.

She was wearing the blue uniform of her school.

He never saw her again.

Although, sometimes, she appears in his mind when getting asleep, half awake, half dreaming.

Sleep does not come after that.

A story never played

Prelude

The man sat in silence, one summer afternoon.

Chapter after chapter, his journey appeared in front of him, becoming an spectator of his past.

The past cannot be lived again. Closed. For ever.

But it can be played again, as a game, options open. The ones that he did not followed. The ones that he followed.

But the past is never just history. It cannot be.

Wednesday 2021-07-14

Yannick

I was going to write :

Another morning has gone by.

No.

Every and each morning is unique.

The similarities are apparent.

This morning, a bumble bee is flying around, exploring the flowers on the hanging baskets, one after the other, tasting the nectar.

These specific acts did not happen yesterday.

The bee was present, too.

Her movements, her route, were singular.

Of yesterday.

Unique.

Tomorrow?

Question mark…

Summer.

Although past the summer solstice.

Days are, already, becoming shorter.

Enough to notice.

Yannick cat was on my lap, earlier.

She enjoys days like today.

Mild, breezy, the sun just hiding behind a veil of detailed clouds.

Just there.

Magic.

The chirp of, mostly, sparrows colouring the morning.

As their flying to and from the feeders do, too.

In spite of our presence.

I. Yannick.

After an early morning, breakfast consumed.

Cats dozing.

The trees dancing with the wind.

The school girl has already gone.

Coy.

She is very young.

Exploring.

Sunday 04/07/2021

Scorching sunshine, almost unbearable.

Not yet.

Early in the morning.

Yesterday late afternoon electrical semi-tropical storm.

Rain cascading from the heavens, troubled.

Dark clouds blackened the once blue sky to the score of ominous rambling and lighting.

Rain, rain, and more rain…

Cats looking from the safety of being behind the windows, with slight concerned expressions.

Oblivious to the illumination provided by lighting, followed by the deep cry of the sky.

I won’t be watering the garden for a day or so.

Yannick climbed onto the open top pane of the window, following the unfolding drama.

Summer.

Storm.

Afternoon has taken over, chasing away those dark clouds.

Dry.

A small boy’s smile

A small boy looking at me.

A smile alighting his face.

A neighbour’s son.

A balcony above.

A patio emerges.

Paving slabs.

Images imprinted.

Sixty years.

An open newspaper, a person, a man, hiding.

My father?

What is a kid’s memory but a perception of a frozen instant, adding to a personal story, perhaps a personal history?

Then, later, we built stories from frozen images.

Fiction.