I was seriously uninspired to write Saturday night so I bagged it, and I felt too zippy and energetic to sit and write last night but I did it anyway. I mowed both lawns, found some alien mushrooms growing over the roots of an old, cut down tree, and took a bike ride. Why wasn't it cool-ish all summer so I could have been riding all season? It was just too hot and humid, humid, oh man, was it humid, too humid for bike riding and breathing at the same time. I sweat like a field hand anyway even when it's 60 degrees and partly sunny so you can imagine what I'm like when it's hot. I had to put on dry undies and socks twice yesterday so I didn't get chafed. (Sorry for that image.) As a punishment for all that energetic movement, I had one devil of a time falling asleep. Bah. Somebody said that her "SAD" light peps her up too much to let her fall asleep; I use mine for extra knitting light, maybe I should stop. Ah well, such is life. I'll sleep extra good at work today. *snort*
September 19--Margitsziget, Budapest. The trees on the island in the Danube were all that remained of the picture in Sonya's memory. Forty years ago when she and Robert had met in the Magyar Cafe the city had not spread all along the river side. Now outside the old city's edges the new buildings stood square and white looking like giant's teeth. No curves, no domes, no majesty separated them, nothing about them spoke of the history and culture of the people in them. Sonya was certain that the people who worked in there were as colorless and bland as their workplaces. A breeze carried the rich fragrance of the trees on Margaret Island and she hurried to the shore to catch a water taxi to cross over to immerse herself in memory now that Robert was gone.
Poignant. I like the images. Thanks for the kick in the slats, Roi, you're right. Have a good week, all. Talk to you tomorrow.