That day

That day a few months ago, when Groningen quietly slipped between the worlds for a while. The cars where all speeding along, but empty. Silent harpies rested on the branches, clutching the pictures of George Clooney they had cut from magazines. A bear hurried to catch up with its skeleton, which was carrying a pouch of messages from the Queen. All the rabbits were lugging organ pipes into the sewers. One of them whisteled the tune from 'The Love Boat'. I wore naught but spinach leaves. The bricks were soft and warm under my bare feet. A great breathing went on underground and the horizon crashed upon the bright white beaches so tenderly I could tell no storm had come in a long time and no storm was to be expected.