István Szőnyi
Roofs in Zebegény
circa 1930
Orange chalk. Powdery, fine, light and dryly-scented. It dusts the parked and cornered roofs in small, discreet mounds, hissing and shifting with low, late evening winds, though remaining seemingly flat to the naked eye. Cypress trees, sage in their study of the ever-evolving sights, sway to a tune of their own, with both ease and aged grace. Thunder, far off beyond the sleeping rocks, ripples nearer like waves of the sky. Wooden rails caked in paint and soil, rain or shine, root and route up and down, in and out. Snuffling and grunting and snorting and huffing, three pigs hoof their hefty way from their left to right, from cart to trough, from day to night.
