Still Life With No View

The streets, the pavement, both damp from lastnight’s rain, the dreary glum hanging off the grey sky bears upon the avenues and rail carred main roads.

The day begins slowly while walking the sidewalk. The movement of pedestrians is drowned out by the light patter of rain drops on plastic umbrellas.

People move between shop fronts quickly and wait for the perfect moment to leap puddles.

Cats lay immobile in eccentric shop keepers windows lazy to the outside world. Evening falls away from the day light slowly in this rain and leaf litter decays slowly in oil slicked streets.

Little moments seem framed by the clay tile rooves and grey skies, ones that make the quiet daytime seem only more still.

The first trains sway and rattle past stations, glistening, as the sun cracks letting the first light of the day stream through the clouds.

The plants become vivid bright against dull grey rain curtain, people gather under the covers of the the station, stragglers left to huddle under their umbrellas whipping phones with shivering didgets of purple palms.

The city and it’s residents blend together In the full weather navy suits indistinguishable from the reflective glass, grey suits seeming to flatten into the concrete foot paths.

Ties hang like liked status from executives necks in cafes where hospo workers play subservient with a head full of speed from the night before.

Only places that seem full are inside where the wet can’t reach.
Strange how few of us pray for rain anymore.

We see our cracked screens vulnerable as children.

While few venture into the streets and cleansing rain, the teams are packed.

Few make the adventure into the street but the odd eccentric who couldn’t hold onto the board as the 60’s wave crashed.

‘Mick Kilkavile you killed me for 37 years, I’m gonna kill you, I’m gonna shoot first before he kills me, Mick Kilkavile Mick Kilkavile.’

A transient yells at passers by, his face drenched in rain, yelling at anyone who will listen. The world gets still in the rain, stories like who will kill Mick Kilkavile can be heard.

My favourite weather is rain 

πŸŽπŸŽ‹

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One thought on “Still Life With No View

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