I had been there before, many times. But hadn’t stayed, because the calm made me distraught and frightened. But this time I wasn’t going to give in, to simplify. I was going to wait until it all truly became calm. Each word crawled out slowly and showed me its true guise. My body leaned steadily against the backrest of my office chair. The neighbour and his cigarette had gone inside.
I stood on my landing for a while. Looked out into the garden and squinted at all the cherry trees I hadn’t remembered to mention when asked what grew in my garden. A pine and a cherry tree, I said, and launched into a description of berry bushes and perennials that didn’t interest all that many, I’m afraid. How many cherry trees were there, actually? Scrubby and wild, intertwined with each other and some maples, small ones and large ones, at least a dozen? I looked up at the crown of the largest tree, the one that barely managed to grow upwards right on the border of my neighbour’s garden. Shadowed by the surrounding vegetation, it didn’t get enough light and didn’t have many leaves. It stood there half hidden away. A great many of the branches looked dry and scrubby and it was taller than the tree I called my cherry tree. And I hadn’t noticed this before, imagine.
I tasted the words from the article about the loudspeakers once more until I was left with two distilled words. Fuzzily disciplined. Rarely have I come across such a good expression. Short and concise. But still, all-encompassing.