I abhor inactivity. Achievement is a mobile success. And yet succumbing at times to the fertile stream of somnolence that unsparingly overtakes the ancient fibre is a victory of its own. A day is contracted, a morning missed like a passing bus; and yet upon awakening from the drowsy state the reward is uncharacteristically vital. The abounding restraint of torpor opens the avenue to sprightliness.

It was in this partly confused state of mind approaching ten o’clock this morning that I sat upright on the edge of the bed and put my feet upon the floor, having thus urged myself to admit to languidness. Already I sensed the balmy summer heat, 32°C predicted to last through a mid-afternoon thunder and lightening storm. The mounting cornstalks have unraveled to a forest of wavering green. The river shone beneath the high cumulus formations.

Within the newly framed quality of the day there was room for reconsidered ambition – perhaps not changing the deeply rooted habits but rather modifying the exact moment and duration of their custom. Time had become a tool of accomplishment – the organ to shadow and reconfigure the erstwhile confinement. The astutely mined diamond glitters as critically as before. The hebetude translated to a flow of uncommon sharpness and deliberation.

But time was working against me. Already it was near to noon – the day threatened to vanish. Granola, steel cut oats, fruit and fried eggs in olive oil were generously proffered to start my day. I am spoiled! And a massage to boot! Thus fulfilled I withdrew to the subterranean garage to collect the tricycle.

I had intended to spare myself the indulgence today; but the mechanical appeal was too much to avoid. I cannot walk with satisfaction; but sitting on the trike accommodates and relieves my necessity. So too the drive into the city – having to bypass the station (closed) on Campeau Drive – diverting to Bells Corners and effortlessly mixing with the urban vernacular before heading back into the country.  The commotion progressively fell from my shoulders. The wind buffeted throughout the car. The breeziness of the rural atmosphere once again overtook me.

I spent a slow and relaxed afternoon at my desk, occasionally relapsing to the deterioration of time, listening to Dirk Maassen.

Dirk Maassen grandit à Rode-le-Duc et suit ses études primaires et secondaires jusqu’en 1989 à Strasbourg. À l’âge de 10 ans, il prend des cours de piano-forte et d’orgue. Après le lycée, il intègre l’Université technique de Rhénanie-Westphalie dans la discipline de l’ingiénerie électrique. En 1980, il s’oriente vers la musique électronique.

Il contribue à composer la musique du court métrage Crossroads (2015) qui est primé au Festival de Cannes 2015. Actuellement Dirk Maassen vit à Ulm.