The Uncertain Inevitability of Most Things.

Toulouse/Friday

Listen. Do you hear it?

An interwoven silence of bird song and bee buzz? Yes I do.

There’s something else.

That distant hum, a plane maybe?

And the breeze amongst the leaves.

There’s a branch softly scraping across the tin roof.

And the pad of the cat’s foot upon the moss covered wall.

You can hear that?

Almost.

Going to stay here long?

I’m tempted; I could doze.

It’s gone ten.

It’s a holiday.

What the hell for?

Jesus I think.

Aren’t you hungry?

A little, more like an interest than a need. Ssssh, what’s that?

Bird wing.

Flutter.

Vibra.

I can hear a cockerel way through the forest on the far side of the valley.

Hey, it would be nice to go up that valley.

It would mean leaving this bed.

It’s inevitable.

That it is not.