Words That Change

Amsterdam Series – Aran

In Uncategorized on 24 June, 2010 at 20:26
You’ve got hearts and  faces basking at the side of a canal. The square looks on to Vondel Park and youre sitting in an Irish Pub on Liberation Day – 65 years after World War 2. The people are on holiday and drink wryly on a packed terrace with voices that hardly make it above a contented hum. Peaceful on a day for celebrating peace, or the end of war, which I suppose is the same thing.
Traffic – boats, cars, bicycles and trams whizz around our island of chairs. Sun tempered by a chill breeze that hardly ever escapes Amsterdam even as Summer dawns. There’s music from a festival stage and pigeons weaving between tips of cigarettes. The slowly moving air is thick with the fragrance of smoke, beer and fried food, intermingled with particles of spring freshness they cannot obscure. Across the gracht are willow trees and several other types you cannot identify – don’t have your Grandsd’s eye for botany – and they too are freshly green. Car fumes and leaves co-exist and the breeze sweeps on. Through the gates of Vondel Park – tha lazy sitters and musicians there – past the Film Museum, showing elegant and cathartic sights and sounds and on past rose bushes, onlooking trees and appartments with over-sized balconies.
A good breeze for a good day. Tara comes and sits beside me. A kiss on the cheek and we talk.

You’ve got hearts and  faces basking at the side of a canal. The square looks on to Vondel Park and youre sitting in an Irish Pub on Liberation Day – 65 years after World War 2. The people are on holiday and drink wryly on a packed terrace with voices that hardly make it above a contented hum. Peaceful on a day for celebrating peace, or the end of war, which I suppose is the same thing.Traffic – boats, cars, bicycles and trams whizz around our island of chairs. Sun tempered by a chill breeze that hardly ever escapes Amsterdam even as Summer dawns. There’s music from a festival stage and pigeons weaving between tips of cigarettes. The slowly moving air is thick with the fragrance of smoke, beer and fried food, intermingled with particles of spring freshness they cannot obscure. Across the gracht are willow trees and several other types you cannot identify – don’t have your Grandsd’s eye for botany – and they too are freshly green. Car fumes and leaves co-exist and the breeze sweeps on. Through the gates of Vondel Park – tha lazy sitters and musicians there – past the Film Museum, showing elegant and cathartic sights and sounds and on past rose bushes, onlooking trees and appartments with over-sized balconies.

A good breeze for a good day. Tara comes and sits beside me. A kiss on the cheek and we talk.

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