Renegadetourist

Archive for February, 2011|Monthly archive page

Park by my old apartment 7:27 pm

In Place description, Poetic prose, Writing on 2011/02/23 at 09:11

A snow-clad soft low hill with a light post at the top casting a cone of light outwards like a beacon, rather than straight down; forming a bright circle at the bottom of the hill. Small, soft snowflakes floating slowly down from a misty, ever so slightly orange sky, caught in suspended animation in the beam of light. They hang frozen in the air yet moving slowly towards earth, twirling, tumbling flowing; a cone of bright little fairies dancing gracefully against a background of dark buildings and trees.

Outside my house 7:31 am

In Feeling of the moment, Poetic prose, Writing on 2011/02/13 at 17:02

The air is cold and the sky is a clear blue. A single streak of cloud, coloured pink by the rising sun, crosses the sky like a streamer. I’m walking home in the early morning, slightly drunk from the night’s escapades, my knee is hurting and i hold a bag full of bottles, that i “borrowed” from a party, in one hand. It is a beautiful morning but now it’s time to sleep.

My appartment 7:17 am

In Place description, Reflections, Writing on 2011/02/10 at 23:15

I am standing in front of the window in a nearly dark room, only lit up by the pre dawn twilight. I’m looking out at the world in this early hour with tired eyes, I am not ment to be up this early. Outside is a series of interconnected apartment buildings encircling a sort of yard with one single apartment building right in front of my window. A few other people are awake, their windows glowing with amber and down by the snow-covered ground streetlights cast an artificial white glare on the fresh frost. Here and there are short pillars with a light on top forming an eerie green circle on the ground. It is just so random in this otherwise normal residential area. I wonder why they are there…and why the light has such a ghastly green tinge to it.

On the way home 2:28 pm

In Feeling of the moment, Writing on 2011/02/01 at 21:14

My shoes are leaking, my shoes are leaking, my shoes are leaking, my shoes are leaking, my shoes are leaking. It is around three degrees outside and rain is falling from a milky white sky onto the same boring old buildings as always. The rain is mixing with the slush and melting snow, forming small streams and waterfalls as it flows down hills and stairs. All I can focus on are my cold, wet feet and the sickly squelching sensation that my soaked socks make each step. Stupid shoes, stop leaking!