The freshly cut coriander roots smelt wonderful infusing the whole house with their virgin freshness as they awaited becoming some addition to a preplanned dish, and by doing so losing the extent of their odour, losing their power to totally overwhelm and becalm, losing their power to demand to be noticed but adding a more subtle hint of flavour, more of an afterthought, or reminder of something not fully known, but stirring in the back of the mind. A distant memory perhaps, or distant event, or maybe not distant, or something, just something that can’t be quite placed.
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… there she was again. Maybe thirty meters in front and about to round the corner.
Sudden surge forward. I couldn’t miss her this time. And yet there she was at the next corner about to take a right still thirty meters ahead. I was determined this time I would get level. A sprint and quick right, and where was she? Hold on, maybe to the left just the bottom of her long flowing coat. Another sprint and a left, and yes there thirty meters in front she was. I must be catching her as now; I could again see her. And another sprint but still after the next left, well twenty-five meters maybe. I was going to make it after all. Then she took a right. OK another sprint and this time only twenty meters away. I wanted to call out to her but…
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Ah, release! I glided slowly at first but then warming up nicely behind, and picking up speed. High, high, high above the low clouds, and viewed from above they were as cotton wooled carpet onto which you could step. A temptation. I wanted to take that now and walk and roll and play in that pure white shining mass washed in the intense glow of the sun so warm above me. I wanted to, but I could not stop for my destiny had been decided long ago by others greater than me.
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I stand looking into the deep blue azure sky with the sun blazing and reflecting off of me and twinkling and blinding and heating, and I gaze at my not so distant twin and see the same. Both of us so proud and tall in the early morning sun that is warming us both from a long night before. And down below such an amount of movement and sound just like on so many days.
And knowing of the good and the bad that I exist for as it spins, and moves and churns all around me. At times so tired of it all. At times so in need of change. At times so much wanting not to be part of it. And always the bad remaining uppermost. Why oh why do they have to do bad?
Now busier and noisier and dirtier and with rising smells and odours and sounds that only serve to disillusion more as I wonder how long? How long must this incessant repetition go on for? Not just for me but also my own identical twin. Identical in virtually every detail. And with what some would say was perfection that my own father my own mother my creators and the creators of my replica were so very, very proud of. And for some reason that neither of us understood so many who lived near us were so proud of. Why?
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