After dark, a storm blew around the house, playing tunes on our poorly insulated doors and windows. The local foxes must have been excited – their gekkering calls intruded regularly on broken sleep. At a point, somewhere between presence and absence, there was the sound of horse’s hooves on the road outside. Strong, clear, unmistakeable. Logic rejected the information; there couldn’t be any horses in this suburban setting. Yet my subconscious demanded immediate action, exploration. On a strange journey, I tore through thick curtains of mental muslin, to reunite mind and body. Arriving back at my pillow, well ahead of dawn, I joined the wind and the rain, as their bold performance continued. Stealthily, if unsteadily, I crept to the window and scanned the empty road.
one hand clapping
the brutal banality