ascension

Finding myself confused, caught up in one of those mornings which seem to hang beyond the reach of stimuli, where the cogs creak slowly, perceptions and motion belonging to alternate realities, places that I'm pretty sure that I've visited but can't quite remember how to find them. Outside the haze is lurking, the temperature rising once again, reinforcing the feeling that the season has changed. Some Laos coffee and then a little more, a cold shower, more coffee and then stepping outside in bright sunlight, shadows falling almost vertically, stone gathering and radiating the midday sun.

Eventually, in the mid afternoon we head off, not so far, a few mrt stations and a short bus journey towards Shengken old street, red brick arches, stinky tofu on a stick or in hotpot, a place of small distractions, glimpses into the shape of the city that was. Buying a snack for the wander and crossing the river, over the highway where a couple of old graves, dating from the Ming dynasty I think that I was told, lay hidden behind the rudimentary structure of a small shop, the last possibility to stock up for the walk. And then along narrowing roads winding up into the hills, passing a couple of signposted trailheads, the clang of metal headed golf clubs striking balls, surrounding nets rising untroubled from their trajectories, past the last houses as the gradient begins to steepen. Above a stream to the right of the road a flash of metallic blue below as a kingfisher races upstream, a couple of blue magpies sitting upon telephone wires, allotments spread along the other bank, narrow curves of concrete bridging the stream.

Walking a little further towards the hills, neither time nor weather for a long wander, we take a path along the edge of a narrow valley which leads up to a small waterfall. Far enough to count as activity and in the humidity of the day more than enough to raise a sweat, the air growing heavier beneath the canopy, a brief stench of cucumber fouling the air. At the end of the path it's kind of busy, a few folk sitting beneath the roof of the pavilion, more gathered down below, a semi circle of plastic chairs gratefully accepting the cooler air spreading out from the splashing water. Standing, wishing that I'd brought a towel, tempted, the best kind of cold shower.

And time passes unmarked, the sky darkening as we walk back down towards the old street, No samples today, the pandemic has removed that possibility - wandering along tasting hotpot and fruit, juiced or dried, snacking on the free produce, fruit vinegars to aid digestion – settling for a feast of stinky tofu and a plate of bamboo shoots washed down with some plum juice. The street darker now, crowds dispersed, lights throwing shapes upon the pavement while the air feels clogged, humidity rising once again with the threat of thunder..