geraldine
That which the most fascinating, that which we see out of the corner of our eye, that which is fleeting, transient, hinted at, barely sensed, that which is easily overlooked, that which takes an effort to perceive, that which is uncommonly known or understood. Those who position themselves on the periphery see and understand in another way, have the different perspective, have the objectivity, the cool remove, the insight- or is out-sight?- of the outsider, of the watcher.
in the black water of the Queensmere, studded with golden leaves, fringed by weary city shrubs and grasses, guarded on three sides by old, old trees, in that black water was reflected not just today, but so many days, in the first, perhaps, is the image of a girl in a tight overcoat, slipping on the muddy banks, wielding her nine penny net, careful of her Nescafe jar with its string collar and handle and slowly settling pond water
I see him go down the lane to catch the boat, a heavy school bag on his shoulder, strong and sure and ready for the world. He has a clear direction he has chosen for himself and the confidence to follow his path. He's strong and sure and ready, but I'm not, not ready to let him go at all. I will, of course, but I'm not ready and I don't want to. My son is the best thing that came to me in this life.
received, the message is getting through, has become clear, so many signs and hints were missed but now I know, the way is clear, all is easier, even waiting, it is all unfolding as it should, a great inner peace, a quiet smile, message received, ever and always and above all, Thank You
rolling over the lower rung in the tubular steel barriers out side our flats, tucking my head to miss the concrete ledge, tensing my stomach against the cold crush of the hard metal, exhilarated as my feet, one foot before the other fall to earth again, a dizzy rush, a smile
Can you can it, this perfect day, the number of glances met with sparkling-eyed people, the shimmer of silver across the sea, the happy faces and the scores of children chattering like birds, the young seals spiraling down into the bay- can it and keep on a shelf? It might be useful in February
ow, it takes me right back to that time, to the grey early sixties, London still under the pall of war, a dry hand holding mine on a damp Routemaster with the scratchy seats, the whirr of the ticket machine, the chime of the bells, the lurch of the bus, to hot summer days full of sour city dust, buzzing flies, the baby and underwear shop window protected with sheets of golden yellow cellophane, humming tubes sweeping into Southfields station, that how it was and then it was all stolen
the hand was loosed and the vultures moved in
Well is that what we want? I think not, sometimes eventful is just stressful, and an uneventful day is full of wonderful quiet revelations and understated gifts
Friday night trouble bound start under the eaves of the National and wheel free wheel swing round Hyde Park Corner slake the city dust with welcome Guinness in a Fleet Street hostelry haunted by ghosts of hacks and its a world that wheels on in my absence but I am not quite disconnected a ghost of me rides in every critical mass ride though I am in a distant lonely far from sort of place and my bicycle languishes in damp garage neglected abandoned and listening for the call of the city turn again
yes lets do that, I'm good at that, shapeshift, raze and rise again, move country, purge all past associations and begin again, make the world anew, shaking the dust and water drops from wings right now, breathing in, ready to fly into the heart of the sun, ready to drown in moonlight, whatever it takes
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writing since 2011 · 167 entries · 161 days shown up
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