Today was like one of those comic black and white films – perhaps a Chaplin – where everything moves in fast forward, and instead of dialogue there’s just a clanky piano playing circus tunes. The cops chase the robber through a door, the robber chases the cops through another, then they’re all being chased by a bear… you get the idea.
Two cyclists sit on a bench outside a house where an old man is watering his vegetables with a hose. We’re walking along on the other side of the road. One of the cyclists, with a small beard on his chin, calls to us – where have we come from?
There are many famous winds. The Siberian High, the Southerly Buster, the Trade Winds, and the Brickfielder to name but a few. They tie the world together in great invisible knots, bringing rain, or dust, or desolation in their wake. Like the tectonic plates, or the ocean currents, they mark the invisible palm lines of the world, and, if you’re skilled enough, you can read them.