Road.
Brick houses.
A railway line.
A Norman castle.
A pub – ‘come and sit by our warm log fire'.
Simple Norman pleasures?
My Aunt lives here.
She is ninety-something, almost as old as
the Normans who came here first.
She lives in a small close, in the corner
between the over-zealous good meaning neighbours and the pain-in-the
ass-what-can-we-complain-about-this-time ones.
She tells me to cut the cake.
I cut four pieces.
She refuses hers, my family pretend to eat
theirs and I have to eat all four for diplomacy.
I put peanuts in the bird feeder.
I put smoked haddock, fresh from the fish
sellers, in her fridge.
I wave goodbye.
Sometimes things seem futile.
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2 comments:
Is that fog on your camera lens? Or was it so cold you caught your breath on film? Nice effect, keeps us guessing whether the dog on the left is black or dark blue.
Not futile. Even Norman aunts gotta eat.
Well yes, the lens was smeared up and i didn't notice for a while, when i went back to take it again the place had disappeared!
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