Long weekend

Four days stretch out into the horizon: kilometres of space and time -- whole and open moments waiting to be filled. Work is a tiny dot off in the distance, with eighty-five hours separating us. There is lots of nothing to be done.

12 February 2004, 18:02

Happy birthday, my love

He is my very best friend. And today, he has made this planet a more beautiful place for thirty-four years.

11 February 2004, 08:02

Weathered

The wind swats at weathered Christmas decorations, frays faded ribbon and curls its edges around cold metal poles. The dirty street is reflected in two blue and orange balls: oversized and clumsy ornaments clasped to the streetlights with tattered bows and plastic evergreen boughs. Some have fallen to the slushy street, have been pressed to the wet pavement by thousands of tires. Others have fallen to grey snowbanks that in the cold desolation of February welcome even a few chunks of faded green.

09 February 2004, 20:02

Front Street coffee shop

He taps a calloused finger on the tabletop in absent-minded rhythm to the coffee shop song, while his fingers scratch capital letters in red ink across the page, composing a letter or a song to a memory-pinned face. Another coffee and he stuffs sugar packets into suit jacket pockets, hoarding sweetness for the journey home.

02 February 2004, 17:02