Friday, January 22, 2016

Week in Seven Words #275

We don't know the stories of these rocks and trees. Pacts broken, glaciers retreating, branches stripped and gathered for firewood on desolate nights.

I walk from one bus stop to another. The bus never comes, so I keep walking.

Still feel the tingle of that cappuccino foam on my tongue. The most memorable cappuccino ever. I doubt I'll find coffee like it in local shops.

A clearing covered in short straggly grass. No trees grow there, because a few feet under the soil there's a building, ruined.

Statues on horseback among budding trees.

The cab driver trades complaints on speaker phone: siblings, girlfriends, friends, the physical pains of aging. At a red light, the man on the other end hangs up. The driver tips his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.

People get wheeled out to the crowd of tulips. Red, yellow, purple and white - so alive in their plot by the hospital.