Saturday, December 10, 2005

Painting with words

I’ve not done this for a while, to simply write with no aim and no plot. Just to compose a few paragraphs of long-winded imagery, hopefully vivid. Regardless, it was satisfying while the muse was with me.


The weather was particularly hot. Heat from the sunlight was exaggerated by the unfriendly humidity and total lack of neither wind nor breeze. Contrary to her usual expectations, it was quiet. A few cricket-like creatures squeaked, but apart from that it was completely silent.

Presently, a white Mercedes-Benz van drew to a graceful stop outside her front gate, the driver being skilled enough to not bring it to a jarring halt. Very unlike films which tend to portray a stopping vehicle with its nose diving into the front suspension members, and then springing up violently upon coming to a stop. Not so in the real world where drivers are less shabby with their control, and particularly not so with this particular driver of the white van.

She climbed into the vehicle after the driver had loaded her luggage into the rear storage space and pulled the heavy sliding door open with a whirl of roller-bearing noises, gesturing with his open palm inviting her to climb abroad. A welcoming kiss of air-conditioner breeze greeted her.

Having pulled the sliding passenger door shut, again with a whirl of roller-bearing noises, the driver walked around the vehicle to enter from the forward-right door. Stepping up into the cabin via two steps, he had enough thrust to propel himself upwards before letting his bottom plop gracefully into his seat in what looked slightly like a parabolic path.

He turned around, and cheerfully addressed the passengers in general, “to the aerodrome then,” - he did not expect a reply, nor did he get one. Passengers, especially individual passengers, rarely ever reply. The exceptions are the kind of people who are inclined to shout “yes!” when the master of ceremony asks if everyone “is having a good time.”

But then he thought those kinds of people tend to talk too much anyway, so he did not mind that his passengers were quiet. He engaged first gear, gave the engine a bit of revs, slipped the clutch and they were off on their way to the aerodrome.

She sat in her seat, not really paying attention to neither her fellow passengers nor the passing cityscape. Allowing herself to relax, the coolness of the air conditioner dominated her senses, and she was happy enough at that. The aerodrome, the flight and what lay ahead were put out of her mind as she savoured cold breeze.