Catherine Dyer
[ Biography ]
Untitled
The thin streets felt familiar and reminded him of a friendly bar he had enjoyed ten years before. When he thought he had found it again, he re-traced his steps to the same place by night and by day and from every possible adjoining road. By the time that his week's holiday was at an end, the man had convinced himself that the weary service of the moustached barman and the joy of his own feelings, were quite matched.
In the shadow of L’Eglise St Germain, thin, straight roads seemed like we’d walked them before. Coming from many sides and from different times of the day and night, we made imperfect arcs with our feet; coming from different times of the night and day, to be certain that this was the place; hoping, by the end of time,
to quieten
quiet doubt.
Life’s Conundrum (A)
When an old woman is slumped in a chair, still in her camisole slip and a skirt not done up, at three o’clock in the afternoon, probably we think there was no chance to dress today. Or the weather lately has been mild. If we hear that she sent the hedge-cutter packing (he is tending the borders now beneath the window), where once they spoke in hushed voices on the steps and were friendly even, there might be cause for concern. On top of this, two bloated cheeks nursing a dozen or more sleepers, could make for unease. Why chance fate, slap-dash? She awoke to thoughts of a sea bass. It was Tuesday. Then the snip-snip of the grass caught her nerves.
I suppose, to ease my own conscience if nothing else, it is true to say that much of life’s pleasure lies in the making of its most miniscule decisions.