20 March 2011

from: sunday speculation

Someone in the block is cooking onions, my kitchen door is open to the still-cold air, my back garden is a shaded patio from October to March. It starts getting sunlight in the evening around this time of year, but it is only for a few minutes, highlighting the deep moss that has taken the place of the grassy area. Strange Evil, a book I read when a teenager, it featured the smell of onions which, although nice at first, grew stronger and stronger until nothing else could be smelt at all, and the god/devil figure of a giant baby appeared. That memory just popped into my brain then, yet there are countless other times I don't think of that when I smell onions, as recently as yesterday when I fried some to put in the gravy, to have with my illegal imported British sausages. My feet are cold, I am wearing sandals in lieu of slippers, not because all the socks are in the wash, and still there is no word from him. Time to go bake some cakes.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...