Sunday, 29 September 2013


The neighbour starts his mower.

It snarls like a dog that can't wait to bite somebody.

The mower fills the air with with its jagged noise. The blades whack stones and sticks and the guy pushing the mower curses. The din is so bad it stops all intelligible thought and conversation. Not that intelligible thought or conversation had ever really got going this morning.

A woman in a red dress comes to her upstairs window and closes it against the noise. Her elbows look very white and she disappears again. Something in this action seems very calming, very sensible.

I think about Germany.

I'm sure somebody once told me that there were rules there. People can't just fire up mower machines whenever they feel like it. Pockets of silence, tranquility are preserved so that certain parts of the day remain sanctuaries where the peace of the garden can be enjoyed.

The neighbour swears again as the mower blade cuts a brick in half and sends the pieces flying somewhere in the direction of Germany.



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