Billow



 After days of sun, last night brings rain: brings the scent of damp earth, the tap and splash of satisfying drops against glass and dusty windowsills. Cool floor tiles under foot, sun warmth lingering. Washes of rain deepen colours even in the dark: wet surfaces reflect: soft midnight blue. Wind sings in the wire: sings, this is your world, your beautiful world.
This morning blows between sun and showers. Eyes open reluctantly. Everything feels reluctant. Tired weight drags.
This evening, as the car rolls down through a series of traffic lights, just another car in another row of cars, and we have drunk the last of the espresso from the lid of the old pink flask, I look up. I think I see a lost balloon, at first, a round of helium filled foil: or it could be a bin bag, billowing, swept above the slow traffic bustle.



Comments

  1. Suze9 May 2013 at 02:28

    'I think I see a lost balloon'

    I got a scrim of excitement when I read that thinking, it made it!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Bhavya N9 May 2013 at 07:23

    There is nothing I love more than rain!!! Thank you for this post.
    God Bless.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Lisa Southard9 May 2013 at 09:05

    Next time, Suze, surely next time- maybe your balloon was inside the escaping binbag?
    Thank you Bhav: we get a bit too much of rain here but it still has its charm!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Suze9 May 2013 at 15:11

    Our balloon.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Stephanie9 May 2013 at 19:56

    It hasn't rained here in a very long time. Your post made me feel a little less parched: thank you!

    ReplyDelete

Post a comment

Thank you for reading my words- my chance to read yours here:

Popular posts from this blog

Yes, A Winter Welcome

Image
~ Words on beginning the Winter Festivities ~ Monday 30th November 2020 Autumn’s last calendar day. The season puts on a thick mist coat so I picture it flouncing out with flaming leaves at its hem, russet apples tumbling behind. Winter clatters at the door, all cold bones and tense sparkling hope. Last night I had driven home connected to a clear night, moon above, fuel warning light pipping, songs turned loud: it was like old poor times, the good energy of it, the leap of faith. This night I drove home through wails of mist, fuel levels contently full, songs still loud: the good energy of repleteness. My fear of comfort is diminished, I note, and this brings an excitement. Am I ready? Yes. Tuesday 1st December 2020 In bed drinking coffee, having first admired the crazy moon lighting the morning sky silvery bright; the sun behind us was arriving as though poured slowly from a jug. Welcome to winter. This first day is a list of simple pleasures: setting up cold protection in t
Read more

Plotlines And Plants

Image
Wednesday 3rd February 2021 Returned to work on Monday with my lists of little things to achieve each day, to balance the lack of other adventures in this, the third of our UK lockdowns. Checked rota and found myself not working more than usual shift pattern for two weeks consecutively which feels like I am still on holiday. 😊 Yesterday we stocked up on top soil, potting compost, vermiculite; bought seeds for savoy cabbage and tarragon, and I treated myself to new secateurs (lost a pair in the garden somewhere). 💚 We took the van, also picking up an old window which later will be a solar dehydrator and water heater, and wood for replacing the polytunnel door, which was too long for the van. Mr had to borrow a saw and bespoke the lengths in rain so heavy it was near solid. 💧 This morning after stretches and dog walking I lugged new topsoil onto the polytunnel beds, pruned the small apple tree, cooked mushrooms on the woodburner. Right now I am about to brew extra coffee and crack
Read more

Clearing Time

Image
Space for soul work Monday 9th November 2020 It’s write anything day. Tap out words. Thoughts adrift. In my car when I’m in fine voice, no one knows otherwise. I might be pitch perfect. Doesn’t matter. The important thing is to sing if I want to. Write. Always watching the weather, jumping in the mud. Walk my feet into the sea until my shoulders slip under, limbs fold-unfold, swimming. Write anything. Be. Let the cliche be. Doesn’t matter. What matters? Yes the little things, yes the big picture. Making mistakes YES. Be serious. Be fun. Misuse punctuation in the general flow. Beautiful words that come to me when I’m lacking a pen or a keyboard, that will never be replicated, that were either perfect or illusionary, that do or don’t need to be shared: tumble through it. Look but seek nothing. I’m at work, it’s drizzling. Sky a pale blur, all colours softened. Indoors the light is warm and also soft. I’m tired from the hot flushes that are stalking my nights, from the dog’s odd new ob
Read more