if I were a river, I would be… the Rhine.
if I were a colour, I would be… magenta.
if I were a work of art, I would be… The Book of Secrets.
if I were one of the five sense, I would be… smell.
if I were an animal, I would be… a human.
if I were a word, I would be… “sirocco”.
if I were a fictional character, I would be… Arthur Dent.
if I were a deadly sin I would be… sloth.
The Book of Secrets.
And now, most exquisite Reader, why won’t you describe yourself in a similar fashion?
Picture credit: Marta Bevacqua.
Edited for grammar on 19. September.
When I was a wee lad, at that age when most memories are those you gather from family members telling you do you remember that time when… years afterwards, my dad drove us to some place, god knows which. The road ended up in a dead end (did we need to park? were we lost?); which incidentally is my earliest memory of a fancy road sign. At the end of the road there was a sort of sand-filled basin. I remember the surroundings being a pine forest, and the day was sunny, possibly Summer. I can’t remember how long we stayed or what else we did that day.
What I do remember though, is that for aaaages afterwards, I was convinced that dead ends always ended up with a sand-filled basin. Better still, I had been so impressed that dead ends with sand-filled basins were a recurrent feature in my drawings at that period, and for quite a while afterwards. Sometimes I wonder what the teachers (or whoever the
victim recipient of the picture was) were making of it. Nor, truth be told, if they understood what the deuce this strange coloured blot at the end of the road was (I hope at least the dead end sign was recognisable). I’m not even sure I used the proper colour for the sand.
Picture credit: Kentin31
There are times I get a bit confused as to what day it is. Maybe you know the feeling, from holidays for example, when all days look the same and you don’t have the same markers as during working weeks. When there is nothing you must do, no one you have to meet, it can be pretty hard telling days apart; one morning you may wake up wondering, is it Monday or Tuesday?
Well, I get that sort of feeling every now and then, and quite intensely at times. This week for example: on Tuesday night, I thought it was Wednesday; on Wednesday morning, I remember switching off my alarm clock thinking it’s way too early to get up for a Saturday; and on Thursday, it felt like week-end. Today as well (it’s Friday), but with Easter it is a long week-end anyway.
I cycled all the way to the blood donation centre yesterday, through avenues beset by trees and bushes, and along a park. The smell of vegetation coming alive, daffodils, grass, a touch of barbecue smoke, the evanescent dryness of asphalt; sounds of birds chirping, people chatting and lazying on the grass; the delicate heat of a clear sun.