Its one of those Sundays that you can work all the way through. Cold enough for a heavier coat, and I wore mine just to walk between subway stations and front doors. Quiet and cloudy too, but this is Sweden after all, its supposed to be at least a little gray, and Sundays are typically quiet. I didn’t think there’d be rain, but when I noticed that the room had darkened quite significantly, I went over to the window. Stretched overhead were deep purple clouds tangled up into long swollen braids. Down below, one of those classic brown wooden boats was moving through the river. On it were a few trombone and accordion players, and I think those two people sitting underneath the tarp were playing clarinets. I couldn’t hear the music at all, but I could see the long brass arms of trombones jabbing into the air, and the musicians’ cheeks exploding into pink bubbles, and the accordions were being stretched out and folded up with motions so unhurried that they seemed a bit blasé. After this boat came another, then another, and I stood and watched about 25 more boats drift through the river that runs between Fridhemsplan and Sankt Eriksplan. I’m not sure what’s going on, maybe its some sort of holiday here. I don’t even know what the name of this river is yet. I looked up again. The sky, a big gray quilt, made me shiver. I remembered my cup of rosehip tea and thought it was probably getting cold. I should get back to work anyway. Now after 6 pm, its one of those Sundays for sure.
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