Sunday Sunnies

On a cold and sunny Sunday it is shady in the corner where the wall and the bushes behind a sandy box form a straight angle. She is leaning against the blue and white wall of the bike shed. She’s wearing some retro sunglasses and is staring into the sky. Seagulls are screeching above the yard, chasing each other in wild curves. “Future is messy, past is neat”, she tells me. She keeps watching the birds and doesn’t turn to me although I do not answer. In the silence between us her future gives way to the past and I can see her sorting out Saturday’s messiness. She painfully brushes out the fantastic beehive she had piled up yesterday night and creates two exacting, neat side partings. She combs back her black hair between the two partings. Finally she looks at me through her dark shades: ” I need straight lines to start Mondays. You too, don’t you?” The seagulls have disappeared, the sounds are urban again and the brown forsythia shrub in the corner between the bike shed and the sandy box has a yellow shimmer. Why should I need straight lines for tomorrow?

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