There is something about looking at this horizon that makes him pensive. The sycamores, the chimneys and the blue sky threatened with all that gunmetal grey. Reminds him of Susan, and how they sat by the window on summer evenings, listening to Nat King Cole.
He looks across the rooftops, aware of the distinct cooing of nesting doves and loud voices from next door.
New neighbours are oh so tiring! They interrupt his reverie like nobody's business. The beagle pup on the other side of the road, probably feeling as threatened as he is by this new arrival, yaps on.
He peers through the door, just a little bit. A couple's moving in - a giant sofa, indicative of their lives' choices, loads of packing boxes with 'Books' written on them...such showoffs...who reads these days? Like really! And random ethnic-looking furniture.
* * *
It is indeed one of those Nat King Cole evenings. And the girl from next door has taught him to appreciate spicy 'chai' with the music. Especially when there is a shower. He tells her how his heart is heavy when he remembers Susan. She tells him of how the horizon makes her mind travel to her city on the other side of the world. Over the treetops.
He tells her about seeing the Beetles. She tells him about leaving home. He tells her about the War. She tells him about growing up with the tele, with HBO, MTV, and fast food.
Martin and Damayanti read Emily Dickinson together. Susan's favourite. And both of their minds spread their wings and fly over the treetops...
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