cirkin sehir

The strong breeze smelled of Istanbul, the air that I missed as it swept the leaves of some palm trees (yes there are those, too). S. was delivering some paperwork to the consulate, to do with the military service as I was taking pictures of some new residential towers across from the hill I stood on. One of many thousand hills of the city. I walked back to the car, watched some men finish their lunch meal break, and heard two other young ones talk about the basketball game last night. Partly cloudy, but bright blue sky and that feel on my hair (the remaining bit, at least) that fills me with love for my beautiful city, yet again. Oh, how I miss it when I am away!

A lovely 6-year old girl is pulled by her grandma as she takes a giant step to walk on to the pavement. I hear her say:

"...ama cok cirkin bu sehir yaaaa.."

down the line

Just darkness.. Some darkness, as much as of it you can find in southeast of England where every little town is next to one another around London. Yet as the train rolls past, what I cannot see in the dark of the night but feel, the long fields of countryside, I smell the autumn rain and the the wet earth. The orange fluorezcent lights of the sidewalks blink one after the another, marching through a street that winds up and turns away. 3 rail tracks illuminate the evening with red glare as we speed through a train station. We won't stop because this is the express train. On another cool, wet and silent night, red glares will illuminate the grey British skies, chanting masses will storm down the streets and a huge bonfire will warn the souls in Lewes in a few months time. D.'s plane will soon touch the ground bringing fresh smells of Bavarian countryside and meld into wet Sussex earth. The couple sippingg their wine will take the next flight to somewhere warmer and sunnie in the south. When the gentle, awakening touch of English late summer rubs my ear, a family a little east of me will gather for their dinner, at some unknown place to me, in Kent. The southeastern countryside will fall asleep when D. lays her head on my shoulder on the journey back to London on the train. She will fall asleep too as I look through the dark of the night. Jose Gonzales will whisper hymns from the lakes of Sweden and the Andes kf faraway countries...