Morning mist
This morning a white and fluffy veil is lying tired on the houses of Skagaströnd; only from time to time there is a lorry or a car passing by, going either to the harbour, where there are building works or escaping the village to a distant location.
This is the time, when I am in the kitchen, where the windows show into two directions, the pretty little houses and the impressive and colourful rounded mountains, which dominate this pictorial setting. But today I need to describe this from my memory, as the mountains have disappeared and the illusion of a wide and open landscape is given.
I sit at the white and centrally placed table with my black coffee steaming in front of me. This is my favourite time, when I have all the time I wished for to enjoy the slow morning and sort through my thoughts.
I remember my mother, which used to sit at our kitchen table, tired after her work with a cold cup of coffee in front of her and a cigarette, which seemed to glow forever. It was the glow of that cigarette, which indicated to me, that she was still there, looking through the curtains into the twilight of the coming night. At that time I could not understand, how she could sit there for hours and think about her life and problems, which she shared only, when I asked, what she was currently thinking about.
This is the time, when I am in the kitchen, where the windows show into two directions, the pretty little houses and the impressive and colourful rounded mountains, which dominate this pictorial setting. But today I need to describe this from my memory, as the mountains have disappeared and the illusion of a wide and open landscape is given.
I sit at the white and centrally placed table with my black coffee steaming in front of me. This is my favourite time, when I have all the time I wished for to enjoy the slow morning and sort through my thoughts.
I remember my mother, which used to sit at our kitchen table, tired after her work with a cold cup of coffee in front of her and a cigarette, which seemed to glow forever. It was the glow of that cigarette, which indicated to me, that she was still there, looking through the curtains into the twilight of the coming night. At that time I could not understand, how she could sit there for hours and think about her life and problems, which she shared only, when I asked, what she was currently thinking about.
