arrival

The fly stuck between the glass sheets was set free. But it left its buzz behind.
It melted into the hum of the engine and before i knew i had fallen asleep, i was waking up from a golden dream.
Typically afternoony and of happy nothing.


That rare flat piece of land, barely surpassing the turning radius of an s.u.v, that they called a bus-stop. That smelled of loneliness.
The green railings overlooking the cliff gave a vague impression of temporary lovers.
Might as well have been vagabonds suggested the retired sheepdog with a grin. The sheep had moved to the big city.


The jeep that was to be there was not, very understandably.


The road lying ahead of us had 17 steep kilometres of rumoured pug marks.
And we witnessed only the startled wood grouse.