Another one of those days.
Everyone tells me it’s warm, almost spring-like.
And from the window it doesn’t look like winter in the garden, although it is damp and overcast. Cats chase one another through the full bushes, up the leafy trees, over the rooftops. Isn’t there too much green out there?
Finally I just see the tip of a tan tail dropping behind a wall in a distant garden.
And then I don’t even see that.
When I go out at last for an appointment, I need to tighten my scarf. And everything is quiet, so silent I can hear the footsteps of every passerby in the street.