Friday-Saturday January 12-13

•   The bright aqua and green sheets against the more quiet blue of the sky

• The sun breaking through the back of the stairwell, lighting the hall, and reflecting in the door window.

• The deep orange flowers are reflected in the pinky orange of the towel hanging behind them. 

• Some people truly dislike children. You can feel the antipathy rolling off of them in waves, as soon as the baby toddles close, even if they are being quiet and well behaved. A tightning of the lips. Flicking up the newspaper to gaurd the face.  
• The cafe is reflected in the bright chrome of the coffee machine, the bad tempered woman on the next table subdued in the poetic light bathing the interior.

Every time my eighty year old neighbor speaks of her daughter, she suddenly falls silent, gets depressed and leaves. She told me how she cried non-stop till she was three. Then she says "she doesn't talk to me now." Then she says,  "When I can't anymore, I'll go to asisted living. I don't need anybody." Then she says, "I'm tired. I think I'll go to sleep now," and leaves.

From the roofed balcony over the park, an old man in a grey hat stares out out blankly. His Filipino caretaker sits by the table beside him, her long hair in a pontale down her back, looking at her phone.  In the garden beneath, three octeganarian women circle round their future. "She fell and can't use her hand, and now has a caretaker. But she says she's quiet all day. She doesn't speak a word of Hebrew." "She doesn't like her caretaker?" "She does. She's good. But she doesn't speak a word of Hebrew."

Birds with round yellow goggles round their eyes picking at the garden at the end of the road. A black and white nahliel bird scrambled across the road so fast, you cn't make out his legs. The pidgeons have entered the goat pen, and are pecking away buisly. 

A young Arab boy is using the old pay phone at the end of the street. It's the first time I've seen anyone using these phones. I didn't know they still work. 

the long orange streeks the late sun sends over my blue wall, dying it a warm green. The shadow behind the red hat is hot pink.