Cantaloupe

My mother sent me an elephant postcard made in Dar es Salaam. After finishing I am Pilgrim, I have become slightly more suspicious of the coincidental. Still places are just places, they are not vested with any meaning beyond the one we give them. A few years later, the same stage can be used for a completely different play. That much becomes obvious when reading Tove Folkesson’s Kalmars Jägarinnor.

“In my mind I board the train in Malmö, find the seat next to yours and sit down. You lean to the window and I lean on your shoulder. A train through the winter in Sweden. Black, frozen fields that are barely discernible, and then forests. Mostly silence. People with the anticipation of Christmas in their faces get on and off but we do not see them”.

Over time, the subtle always takes precedence. Right now however, W turns on the strobe flash light and siren on his fire truck and it becomes difficult to think a single coherent thought. I guess I will have to leave it with that.