Friday, October 08, 2004
The Brattleboro Rat
The man on the cliff was wrapped up in a big coat and a woolly hat today. What do I do when I walk past his frozen corpse in three months' time? I can see my own breath in the air as I walk to the station in the mornings now. Heaven only knows what it's like before sunrise.
The title of this post is the title of the novel.
The train journey is becoming increasingly frustrating each morning, as the sun is slightly further down in the sky and the light correspondingly more golden, the air correspondingly cooler, and the mist over Cockwood, Powderham and Turf Locks correspondingly more beautiful - every glance out of the window sees another photo opportunity, if only I was outside and walking, pulled from my grasp. Every power line, every telephone pole, every mist-shrouded heffer, every stark and naked tree thrown into relief by the rising sun, is a possible picture, and I can't take any of them because I'm on a fucking train.
10/08/2004 10:11:00 am