Winter.
The trees were now brown, yellow and light green with autumn. The scattered clouds above were a shining gray with brilliant white borders. They floated gently on the light breeze high above in the sky. It was a fine and mild day, and the wind blew gently. Leaves rustled and fell from the trees unto the ground. The summer lawns were also yellowing as winter approached.
It was not quite that cold yet, I thought to myself, although it would soon be. The streets have been quiet as of late with all the public holidays, I kept on musing. Winter. Winter creeping up on me like an old hag in a dark and dreary alleyway. And yet, and yet I like winter in a way. Sometimes winter is like an old friend that understands me, I thought and smiled to myself.
A car cruised slowly by, and then another. Quiet streets once more. A dog barking like a maniac somewhere in the distance for a short while, and then falling silent once more. A half-noisy drunk walking past on the pavement, and then disappearing down the street in a casual stumbling stroll. A-mumbling to himself, a-mumbling to himself. A bundle of soft and low curses fading down the road as he walked.
In winter all dreams die and lie dormant, awaiting a new surge of growth. Darkness is prevalent now, short days and long nights. The refreshing, biting cold of high-veldt winters. Soon the lawn will be covered with white frost in the early mornings. The cold will set in. I was shaken from my thoughts and reverie by a nice song that came onto the radio. It was ‘Blue Bayou’ by Roy Orbison. I turned the volume up a bit to listen.
The music played on sad and sweet while I sat and listened and smoked a cigarette. Occasionally I would tip off the ash from my smoke into the ashtray beside me. I sat and smoked and enjoyed the music, while the trees were still turning yellow outside the window…
