The White Orchard, 1888
Visiting Van Gogh. Leaves are flying. Rain is coming. It’s going to happen. The bomb at the opera house. The fight in the bar. November, so like a sickness that cannot be diagnosed. They run home. They kneel on the ground. They sit for a portrait. It’s going to happen. Ranks of colour. Criss-cross. Atomic strings of colour. Then the sun goes in. Clouds are giants. Nothing can be done. Pack up and go somewhere else. May, so like a coffee hit. Seven coffees in a row. Asylum blessings. Water in the orchards. Blossom. It’s going happen. Times one hundred.