Until The Cows Come Home

Cow lomo no.5, photo by Skinnyde.

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The following is a guest post by Tokyo Rose:

Not being in possession of a regular nine to five, all weekdays are in theory the same to me. I might work all Saturday and take a Tuesday off, write late into the night on Thursday and spend Friday napping in my comfy chair. But Sundays are completely different.

Maybe it’s the quiet mornings with blinds closed tightly and everyone lazily sleeping in, or the busy afternoons filled with bodies ambling along the seaside promenade. Whatever it may be, I never feel like leaving my flat on Sunday. I don’t really feel like doing anything, except maybe read a book and watch the goings on.

Around midday, people start preparing for their family get togethers. Terraces are scrubbed and laundry is taken off the lines. Then there’s usually music, and the smell of charcoal announcing a barbecue somewhere nearby.

After a nap and leisurely lunch, I sat out on my balcony too, among my potted plants. Sunning my legs and idly wondering where a passing plane would be dropping off its passengers. I watched a bunch of paragliding pigeons stretch their wings with a satisfying snap and balance on an air current for surprisingly long periods of time.

And now, close to sunset, I see parents kissing children goodbye, waving like lunatics at the grandkids already bundled up in the backseat. As the car disappears down the lane, they become their own age again and walk back home wearing happy smiles.

Some clouds drift by, looking to me like a herd of cows slowly walking home. I think I’ll stay and watch them for a while, until they get there…