|
July 11, 1997 8:30AM EST If I could stomach coffee, I'd drink some right now. My brain feels like porridge right now. And I have a LOT to do today. I brought this on myself, asking for more responsibility ... What, am I, NUTS!?!? So I'm sitting here staring blearily at the computer screen going, "Huh, what? What am I supposed to do to this file now?", because everything I'd learned to do on automatic pilot for the past few months has new stuff thrown into it and I can't be on auto-pilot anymore. But I'm so sleepy that I couldn't come up with an original thought if I tried. Which is why I'm writing here. It'll force my brain to wake up. Because writing here is a creative endeavor ... usually. Since the film is still in my camera, just like every other picture I'd want to put up here, let me make a verbal one for you. The street is quiet in that early morning way, not many cars, and when they do go by it's with a light swooosh that doesn't offend the senses. The light is bright, but gentle, golden and warm, but the air is still cool, with only a hint of the humidity which will become oppressive by mid-day. Your feet hit the pavement in a regular rythm, the sidewalk gives way to the red-brick-tiles that pave the walkway underneath the 8-storey building which houses your office somwhere up in the heady regions of the 7th floor. You step beneath the arch, walking along between the ground floor shops and the columns that support this overhang, and suddenly you stop as a peculiar yet strangely beautiful sight catches your eye. With one wheel tilted towards the glass doors of the flower shop, a bicycle stands in all it's old-fashioned glory, it is non-descript a faded black paint with silver trimmings, like the ones you see pictures of in your grandmother's photo albums, and wreathed in its handle-bars is a fresh-picked bouquet of tiger-lilies, hydrangeas and a few other flowers which grow in the gardens of the region. Everything is still except for the chirping of the birds. And for just one minute it's a perfect summer-morning-moment. See what I mean? |