the mountain
Went up the mountain today, first time since October. The snow on the paths is grey and hard, full of February footprints frozen in place. On the long stairs up to the chalet everybody walks the same cleared strip in single file, saying pardon. From the lookout the city was the colour of dishwater, and I stayed half an hour anyway.
On the way down I passed the angel, where the tam-tams happen on Sundays in summer. Two guys with one drum, practising, in April. Eight people watching anyway.
The sidewalks on Mentana are coming out from under the snow and bringing the winter with them: gravel, dog stuff, one child's mitten, a Christmas tree somebody never put out.
Mme Desrochers had her window open a crack. The bucket of plaster is still in the middle flat.
I've slept OK this week. Four clips, all me, all nonsense. Wednesday was "the moose is a colleague." I'm keeping that one.