Middle distance the starlings crossing the sky can be mistaken for mosquitoes against the window pane. (At street level one often passed birdhouses in the inner quarter of the old town; one stood on the near corner.) Early morning before the heat with the wooden shutters fully opened the canvas of grey-white presented a meager offering; no painter would be interested in such a scene that lacked all colour and texture. When some blue did seep through the thin bleached wash was hardly worthy of the name. With the forest long gone it was only the starlings flitting about in the morning and evening cool. Two downpours to date, both late-night and only aurally received in the sealed room. Around 11pm the big digger on the corner started up with a night-shift of migrant workers putting in the new drains on Jalan Ali. Yesterday taking another route to the Cyber a marvelous home-stay was happened upon in an old traditional Malay house, the past imprinted in the timbers of the stair treads and the discoloured wooden wall panels where grubby hands had reached for support. One small, cloudy mirror at least in back might have once reflected the faces of the earliest occupants. There was a warm welcome offered by the Chinese manager who suggested a cuppa in the attached café in front. One had learned by now never to take halia in anything but a mamak shop in this region; only the Southern Indians knew how to portion the ginger. Told that the favourite tea was unlikely to be found in her establishment the woman immediately apologised. Sorry, sorry, she confessed, unfortunately they indeed could not offer Earl Grey.... Ah, yes! There you had it true enough. You were a right proper Englishman, don't bother trying to deny it!... The week before a friend in JB had noted it was the Indian minority feeding the pigeons and the other wild birds on the equator. Cats were one thing, but there did seem to be a divide where birds were concerned. At a couple of locations in JB this was borne out, and then yesterday in Muar again.
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Skywindow
Middle distance the starlings crossing the sky can be mistaken for mosquitoes against the window pane. (At street level one often passed birdhouses in the inner quarter of the old town; one stood on the near corner.) Early morning before the heat with the wooden shutters fully opened the canvas of grey-white presented a meager offering; no painter would be interested in such a scene that lacked all colour and texture. When some blue did seep through the thin bleached wash was hardly worthy of the name. With the forest long gone it was only the starlings flitting about in the morning and evening cool. Two downpours to date, both late-night and only aurally received in the sealed room. Around 11pm the big digger on the corner started up with a night-shift of migrant workers putting in the new drains on Jalan Ali. Yesterday taking another route to the Cyber a marvelous home-stay was happened upon in an old traditional Malay house, the past imprinted in the timbers of the stair treads and the discoloured wooden wall panels where grubby hands had reached for support. One small, cloudy mirror at least in back might have once reflected the faces of the earliest occupants. There was a warm welcome offered by the Chinese manager who suggested a cuppa in the attached café in front. One had learned by now never to take halia in anything but a mamak shop in this region; only the Southern Indians knew how to portion the ginger. Told that the favourite tea was unlikely to be found in her establishment the woman immediately apologised. Sorry, sorry, she confessed, unfortunately they indeed could not offer Earl Grey.... Ah, yes! There you had it true enough. You were a right proper Englishman, don't bother trying to deny it!... The week before a friend in JB had noted it was the Indian minority feeding the pigeons and the other wild birds on the equator. Cats were one thing, but there did seem to be a divide where birds were concerned. At a couple of locations in JB this was borne out, and then yesterday in Muar again.
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