Two small clouds and the last few leaves of this year's trees.Hot spiced apple juice at the Farmers' Market Christmas Market, this morning, is seasonal bliss in the cold mist, slush and snow all around.
There is a youngish man who strides about in Tunbridge Wells talking most of the time. He addresses in a normal voice complete strangers who happen to be standing, as we are on the pavement this morning, outside the the public library. He speaks briefly about what happens to be in his head. "John Steinbeck," he says. "Read John Steinbeck", and breezes on. No one takes any notice of him.
4 comments:
Tell that man to get a blog.
Lovely composition in your photo, Plutarch. I like the angles.
I'm almost inclined to take him up, but not Of Mice and Men. Perhaps Cannery Row. Lyttelton and Hart-Davis were particularly dismissive about The Wayward Bus, which I read, sweating on my bed, at RAF Seletar. Which... ah, there's a potentially post-rich subject there.
Well, you don'r know that no one took any notice, someone might have been moved to go home and read Steinbeck...
Post a Comment