Thursday, 6 December 2007

Night shift

The clock in the car reads 21:09 as I coax the engine to life. The streets are quiet now. Only the rhythm of tyre on tarmac breaks the silence.

No sleeping taxi driver bars my way tonight. The cold padlock chills my fingers as I fumble the key. I pass through the gates, my headlights dissecting the gloom. Oops - watch the trench.

Traffic scuttles along the neighbouring road, but here everything is muted. Distant streetlights silhouette a wheelbarrow, a scarecrow. A rustle – what was that? Silence.

I make my way to the plot. Frost sparkles on the cardboard. Moisture streaks the compost bin. My feet squelch as I move around.

Everything is waiting. Poised. The potential is breathtaking.

1 comment:

  1. ... and then you stumble on something in the darkness and fall face first into the shit. As I did the other night. Soilman.


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