Blank Wall
At no particular time in no particular place once, not long ago. The sky was bright with clouds high up the texture of onion skins in thick parallel lines vanishing into the sun. Picture a particular friend stirring from sleep on a large wooden bed in sheets of silver known to me. Eyes open and immediately pictures in the bathroom abluting including scrubbing, scratching and wiping. The house was warm. In the hall a vase of chrysanthemums stood at the foot of the banisters caught in a stream of early sunlight, a blaze of yellow which took me by surprise. Later, a chrysanthemum picked from the vase was tucked into the band of a brown felt hat. In the kitchen smeared dishes from the night before and wine goblets with clear lip impressions. Wide awake by this time and lingering in the lavatory there were thoughts of a picture hanging there. The blank white wall had stared long enough each time it was faced. The pictures were often horses cantering in a wooded landscape or the sea, most often that, rolling waves and cloudy white skies.