One Of Those Days And No Regrets

Here I am, a writer in civilisation, in a coffee shop of course. 

Almond croissant, no regrets.
A coffee shop in a shopping mall, it isn’t where I’d planned to be, it is One of Those Days. I am dressed for chainsawing, in fact, and looking as out of place as I feel. 

Embracing the stares. 

Observing the flash of advertising, reading the message: you should look like this, to be yourself, but you knew that because you shop here so you’re cool, we’re just telling the rest of the conformists how cool you are. We are advertising you!

I don’t hate all commerce, just the soulless lies.
And if you look there are people here doing real human interaction, without phones, they are talking and holding hands, and a child has a shoulder ride, stares up happy at a fake palm tree. 

I like this, and there’s fun in frippery. 

I like sparkle, and colours, and the feel of fabrics. 

I like this, but I don’t want it in place of my wild world.

Yesterday by the river I went walking, admiring puddle-shadows, the rain of leaves, a dispersing mist-haze. 

It was so warm, off came boots, socks, trousers: always I think I’ll paddle but then I’m ribs deep, and I’m tying up my shirt, it gets wet anyway, and the water shimmers, Dog swims dragging her wake-cape round and round me, I’m laughing, sliding on slimy stones, ankle deep in soft mud.
I have a tree for a changing room.
I walk home, squinty, into the sun.

So today, I’m leaving the mall and finding a park. 

A wide open space where leaves blow in heaps and gulls stalk the pond to thieve duck food. 

I’m sitting under a chestnut tree, barefoot, sketching out a story.
It’s a story about how life should go wrong, or you’ll never learn a thing.

My feet get cold, I’m pleased by it. 

One of Those Days and no regrets.