Today morning is all cold window grilles
and chilly air in a land of perpetual summer. Pastel shades like the ones you
keep in your 64-colour poster paint set.
The silence is a sensory assault – we have forgotten
how to see, hear (and hope). The opposite block
is still, its lime green reduced to pale yellow.
Buses come and go, but as for me, I sit in
the quiet (having outlawed lights and sounds), counting
my sources of inspiration.
Morning is grey with shades of black and white –
memories of bygone dawns and anticipation
of those to come. There is a general feeling of
expectancy, a drawn-out pause during which I
notice my guitar in the corner. Then the rest
awake, and grey gives way to colour.