Afternoon Quiet

The Mews is still. The air has that odd quality of timelessness, accentuated somehow by the sound of an aircraft. The sound of the plane is the sound of the distance.
Sat on the sofa in the flat. A white day outside, grey sky and the air cool and chalky. Silence settles about the flat, about the softened shadows falling between the gap in the curtains.
I worked with someone once who was fascinated by the concepts of afternoons, about their identity as a time, as a place we pass through everyday. I am ambivalent about afternoons. Where do they belong? To work or wandering about towns, of this afternoon, more likely, to sleep.