Thursday 12 June 2008 photo 2/6
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Jag var hemma hos päronen och käkade middag. Modren lagade moussaka. Det var gott.
They were to have for supper beef boiled with carrots. The bread, today's, was fresh. Kit mumbled a torn crust. There was a firkin of Kent ale. Kit could have wept.
Wept? Why? At the comfortable cycle of life that smelt of bread and beef seething, round and round for ever if the preachers and governors would allow it, and he himself a tangent to the cycle. Wept at a future that, he knew, must be perilous. Wept because they, his womenfolk and his hammering father would weep. Weep when? That he did not know. He could hear weeping on the wind.
Jag var hemma hos päronen och käkade middag. Modren lagade moussaka. Det var gott.
They were to have for supper beef boiled with carrots. The bread, today's, was fresh. Kit mumbled a torn crust. There was a firkin of Kent ale. Kit could have wept.
Wept? Why? At the comfortable cycle of life that smelt of bread and beef seething, round and round for ever if the preachers and governors would allow it, and he himself a tangent to the cycle. Wept at a future that, he knew, must be perilous. Wept because they, his womenfolk and his hammering father would weep. Weep when? That he did not know. He could hear weeping on the wind.
Annons