Sunday Morning in August
It’s colder in the mornings now. I put on a linen shirt to sit outside on the balcony with my coffee and a book. It’s Sunday. The neighbourhood is just waking up; the church bells are our collective alarm. First, the heavy chimes of the Protestant church, then the small bell of the Orthodox church across the street. That one is rung by a man who climbs the narrow steeple every Sunday, wearing red earmuffs against the noise he’s about to make. Today, someone claps when he’s done. From another corner, a pop song blares through what sounds like cheap speakers — maybe a playful revenge for the early wake-up call. I doubt the man with the earmuffs hears it, nor the churchgoers, whose singing drifts through the building's windows.
Slowly, other voices and sounds rise through the open windows: laughter, snippets of conversation, a yawn, a sneeze, the creak of blinds being opened. I love witnessing how the world wakes up around me. Today, it reminds me of mornings at the Roches Rouges. Those calm moments, gliding on my back through the cool water of the rock pool, watching balcony doors open and sleepy faces with ruffled hair step out to look at the blue sea.
I’m reading To the River by Olivia Laing. I picked it up from the free book bin at the office to take to the lake during lunch breaks. It’s the translated version — I wish I were reading it in English. I’d love to read Laing’s original phrasing, learn from her language, and develop my writing. In the book, she recounts a days-long walk along the River Ouse, following it from its source to the sea. Along the way, she weaves in the river’s history, personal stories, and the small scenes she encounters. Among the many literary and historical references, it’s the quiet observations I’m drawn to — the moments she simply witnesses and records. That’s something I try to do in these little notes.
By now, the noise in the neighbourhood has grown louder and more distracting. The flatmates next door have gathered on their balcony for breakfast, laughing about last night’s adventures. D has just woken up, too — I can hear him plumping the pillows in the bedroom. It's time to prepare a late breakfast and begin this summer Sunday.
