Tuesday, 7 September 2010

Every Day is a New and Fine Illusion

And so, good people, here we are just before the end of today with the tail end of a weather system being blusteringly belligerent against the window panes; curled up nose to tail is Sal in an effort to pretend she's about to wake and stretch and bound along the beach at somewhere like Pensacola chasing sand bunnies; I am sitting on the balcony over looking the Grand Canal with my Powerbook,  words of wisdom swept like leaves swirl around me as the Venetian evening bumps gondola-like against the quays of night . . .

And somewhere, maybe across the river and into the trees, another story is waiting to be told . . .

In what passes for reality these days I am, of course, still in the same old duck-blind with the rain sheeting down, drinking tea and sharing my innermost with you lucky people - whether you want me to or not!

I met the old Duchess as planned and we toddled up to the Orchid Room for a little light refreshment; she was in somewhat of a pensive mood and we talked of her younger brother who died recently and who she obviously misses greatly . . . I was happy to let her sit and think of him and give her the space and silence to remember and, in amongst the noise and bustle of the cafe, she was obviously with him again . . .

After a spot of shopping she returned to the stately pile and I came back to the bijou and spent an age or two trying various connections for the new phone  - when really I should have been working hard on the next assignment . . . which is tomorrow's job; hopefully the foul weather will imprison me at the PC and make me do some work!

 A brief one this, I want to post before the witching hour and so

'til next time

Be Seeing You!


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