Reliving this blog on such a (barely) winter morning - an ancient tradition that has gone on for ages. From the time of scribbled notes (the non-Facebook back-of-school-book sort) and hasty rhetoric. The familiarity with its sense of continuum is comforting, especially in these times of change (a mark that years truly have passed - the previous line would invariably have been "the times they are a' changin" ... about 4 years ago).
The fact that I'm counting days in years instead of hours is another mark that mildly irritates me.
There is a clink of cup on saucer - a nod to my morning cuppa.
The sparrows and crows are continuing their morning symphony. The pariah kites put in a shrill rejoinder, swooping barely within sight at the garbage dump near the far-off rail tracks.
There is no music playing. Anywhere. Other than the eternal choir of a city soundscape. The rattle of the morning garbage-man with the whistle - the same notes since a forgotten childhood. Eternal rumble of vehicles laboring up the No. 4 bridge and thence along the oft-mentioned EM Bypass. Which now boasts leviathan hulks of yet another semi-constructed flyover. Passing them on the way to college always puts me in the mind of Darth Maulish saberfights.
This is a morning for aimless rambles, a jog in the park or a jaunt down park street with a drop by at Flurys (the old one, with rounded armchairs and a shadowy gravy brown interior). However end-sems and guilt-ridden dreams of a postgrad have almost driven such bats out of the belfry.
Realworld's catching up without any pills (red or blue) to provide a shortcut out. What put me into blogpost mode was an sms last morning - "happy children's day to the child within you" or words to the selfsame effect thereof [YES i like this language]. Here's to more such unexpected and unintended triggers.