How elusive is a drink? Could have saved sunday's white for tuesday's sunset, but fish does go with white wine, my dad reminded me, and, i suppose, the tired calm of the evening, its last waves of light reflected in dark skin, goes with a bottle of champagne.
We kept quiet as a plane cruised the muted sky and the wind brushed the trees, but we kept quiet because there was nothing to celebrate. Summer came and we sat at the table, neatly put, with smoked salmon and toasted bread and I can't remeber exactly how it felt: yes, the town had been changed beyond recognition; incoherence, - not unlike my life, i thought -, had built large deserted squares. No trees, my dad added.
We ought to make time to sit and remember. To carelessly sip champagne. Or white wine poured over sliced peaches. Maybe tomorrow.
We kept quiet as a plane cruised the muted sky and the wind brushed the trees, but we kept quiet because there was nothing to celebrate. Summer came and we sat at the table, neatly put, with smoked salmon and toasted bread and I can't remeber exactly how it felt: yes, the town had been changed beyond recognition; incoherence, - not unlike my life, i thought -, had built large deserted squares. No trees, my dad added.
We ought to make time to sit and remember. To carelessly sip champagne. Or white wine poured over sliced peaches. Maybe tomorrow.
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