It’s Raining in Amsterdam
dear*eric
The door of a cupboard bangs closed in a Kansas kitchen and through the open window the sound of a John Deere coughs into life. Autumn is here, the harvest is starting, and there’s a sort of comfort to be found in the solemn quiet of the prairie. This afternoon a farmer’s wife will bake a pie to use up the last of the fresh apples.
It’s raining in Amsterdam, but she wishes she was there.
The mob of doves in the Mozamjahi market of Hyderabad circle like falling leaves, searching for the crumbs of dil khush dropped by the patrons of the Karachi Bakery. A student from Nampally buys mangoes and grapes and pomegranates. The grapes he eats while sitting in the shade, escaping the heat of the afternoon sun, listening the fluttering of the doves and ignoring the fumes from the yellow three-wheeled auto-rickshaws.
It’s raining in Amsterdam, but he wishes he was there.
A writer in São Paulo sips his coffee and looks out the window of his high rise apartment. No sound reaches in from the outside. He hears nothing but the ticking of the clock and the tap-tap on the kitchen linoleum made by the grave, homely little Pug dog that used to belong to his soon-to-be ex-wife. In the distance he watches traffic swarm across the Octavio Frias de Oliveira bridge, and he wonders if he will lose the apartment in the divorce.
It’s raining in Amsterdam, but he wishes he was there.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
