Sunday, 27 September 2009

September, usually.

Wasn't it just yesterday when we went to the park? Wasn't it just yesterday when I came around to your house? When we were sitting there by the river. When we were smoking cigarettes and trying to find satanic meanings in Led Zeppelin songs. When we were watching the birds feeding on the peanuts. When I went away for the weekend. When I was so sad and tired of the office. When our eyes scaled the Tate chimney for the first time. When we snapped happily in Pushkar.
Yesterday is a blur of memories. Many of them sad. Many of them happy. But always holding enough colours for me to paint my canvasses.
I need to add the last ten days to the blur and revisit them at leisure. Can't quite put a finger on what all happened. But I suspect it could be all of the above. September, usually is like that.