Crisis on the tenth day of lackdown

This post is also available in: polski (Polish)

A crow flies from tree to tree, and I want to contemplate his velvet wings. Meanwhile, the bird sits between the leafless branches on the background of the clouds. He is staring at me. Why spring is missing today? – I swallow my thought with the air and almost run along my dear path as if I were running away.


Whirls gurgling in dark green Corrib and reminded me of older Irishman words: – Don’t swim in the river, she only looks mildly.


I can see from a distance that the university security guard has some white sash on his forehead. Did he break his head somewhere? – I think. No, this is a protective mask that looks like a hairband. The guy is standing two meters from the car, where the window is open and he talks to somebody.
On the sidewalk, someone abandoned plastic gloves. I sneak a glance at Matt’s place, it closed today although he was talking to passers-by over coffee two days ago, yet.


On the stove of the 50s, porridge is boiled for ten minutes. A bit of salt, grated apple, and cinnamon.

Today, the teste of cinnamon touches me more than usual, it’s like three-second happiness.

Then I feel nothing but I can see four dry pears on the table, which is my home for six years. I have a crisis.

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2 Comments Crisis on the tenth day of lackdown

  1. Alodia1949 23 March 2020 at 10:06

    oby jego skutkiem była twórczość

    Reply
    1. blue tram 23 March 2020 at 10:14

      Zbieram się od kilku dni do uszycia maseczek z afrykańskiego materiału, aby choć trochę było jaśniej…

      Reply

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