Blue

The long grass bathed his legs in cool dew. Perhaps ten minutes to the top now. His breathing deepened as the incline rose and his heart pumped. Early morning but the sun was already high and burning his neck. Today June was definitely his favourite month.

Bending to the hill he pushed hard for the last few steps and his blood coursed. He brushed a salty bead stinging the corner of his eye. As the ground levelled he surveyed the familiar scene and smiled in appreciation of his secret hilltop. Rabbits kept the grass short for him up here on the city’s steep roof. He sank to his knees on the soft velvety pile and rolled onto his back. Breathing easier now he looked to the sky and his focus drifted out to infinity.

He stared into the sheer cobalt blanket above. At its terrifying zenith a chalk line was scratched into the blue and at its moving end a silver speck glinted. It carried tiny souls 8 miles high, in heaven's void. His chest rose and fell smoothly, filling with sweet clean air.

A robin in the tight bramble whistled his insistent song to the breeze. The sleeper listened but lay still on the warm grass. Soon he would stand and drink the steep view, see the patchwork folds of the county and the miniature orange roofs. This climb set his world into perspective. He hoped for another 40 summers but he would honour each one as the last.

Big strides took him down. Looking back he saw the rabbits had already emerged to resume their busy chewing. Small hearts beating like hammers, as they cropped his grass sheet. Lower and lower he scrambled leaving the sky behind. On the horizon he saw soft grey smudges and shapes of soft white cotton in the blue above.

"Today is the greatest day I've ever known
Can't live for tomorrow, tomorrow's much too long."

Smashing Pumpkins – Today

Dreamer

In the aisles of the DIY Superstore most shoppers are thinking about tile grout and paint, not poetry. I find myself gazing at bath taps but thinking, “now what rhymes with suffocate?” In HMV I see a youngster counting a small handful of coins by the singles stand and I feel a wistful tale of compassion forming.

I put too much of myself into this. I’m emotionally drained. Last night I was dreaming about communication. Transfixed in front of a small plasma screen I watched e-mail notices arrive in torrents. Electronic filters ensured they slid effortlessly into their assigned slots, nestled in folders with friends' names, keen for replies. Three browsers are open, switch to tracker see the ISPs, flick from 'compose post,' to notepad to Outlook. Endless cycle. Eyes closed, head in hands, drifting, dreaming...

I am dimly aware of the cursor blinking in Notepad like an impatient foot tapping, nagging me to type. I need a subject so I scroll through a list of half developed ideas for inspiration. Nothing seems appropriate today. More blog comments arrive by e-mail and I scan them quickly... Now I bash out a short poem about tenderness or something. I select an appropriate picture from my camera files. No, wait that needs cropping first. I rub my tired eyes.

Cropped, tinted and tagged the photo traverses the ether and drops snugly into place. Now to finish I need a lyric. Something pithy, maybe emotional, certainly memorable. Can’t think of a song even. What’s my favourite song? I drink a long, long glass of chilled water. I haven’t even looked at my blogroll today, I groan with worry. I think I'm losing it.

Now there’s a tug at my shoulder. “You ever coming to bed?” “Leave me alone,” I snap. “I’m working, I’m trying really hard to...”

“You’re asleep. You’re dreaming. The PC’s not even on!” “It must be,” I mumble in protest. “My friends are talking to me."

“Dreamer, you know you are a dreamer.
Well can you put our hands in your head, Oh no.”
Supertramp – Dreamer

Georgia on my mind

...and Florida and Alabama and Tennessee. Holidays are on the horizon and soon we‘re off on a two-week clockwise tour of some Southern States. Until three years ago I had never flown, my feet were firmly rooted to the ground. In 2002 I closed my eyes, swallowed hard and flew in a great white bird. Having cracked that fear of flying, Florida has become our regular summer destination.

 

Previously we stayed in rental villas in Port Charlotte and Haines City but this year we have half a dozen hotels booked starting in Georgia. August school holidays is our usual time as it fits with Mrs Virgo's work. Despite the great dollar rate when viewed from here in the UK, I need to somehow manage a new bathroom this year too, so we are economising with an Easter Sunday flight. We jump in a rental car in Atlanta and drive. More details to follow... Two suitcases have already appeared down from the attic. So! I'm a preparation freak! I'm a Virgo!

 

*****

 

Upbeat mood today so we sail the unfamiliar waters of delight. Green Day have just come on MTV giving me 'American Idiot' blazing away in the background. I’m tapping my feet. Am I too old to rock and too young to die? Wrong on both counts.

 

I used to hate holidays, I couldn't relax. But now I'm learning to like them. USA by 777 sure beats our rusty ferries to France. You'll know I'm excited when I tell you I have about twenty location maps printed off the net, a folder full of hotel reservations, a detailed itinerary and an inventory of stuff to take. (Of course I need nail clippers! And string! And a pencil sharpener! and...)

 

By nature I tend to see my glass as half empty rather than half full, so you see I can't force happiness. I'm not often going to write an entry which reads: woke up happy, was happy, went to bed happy. I want to grapple with things. Some of my cyber friends have towering issues in their lives that put my situation into perspective. I'm happy today.

 

*****

 

"Remember when you were young
You shone like the sun"

Pink Floyd – Shine on You Crazy Diamond

Spine-tingling highs and lows

Another gratuitous picture of my guitar but today I make no apology. It suits the mood I felt half an hour ago. The missus went out so I cranked up the hi-fi and felt the noise. Now let me say this guys not my favourite but the song is a killer, loud, proud and simple.

Sometimes I really get it, really feel that screaming rush of euphoria. There's no room for anxiety, sadness or worry it's all squeezed out by elation. But it's just too intense to last, like the brilliant flare of a dying star. I felt it just now listening to the crashing opening guitar on "Summer of 69," raw slightly dirty valve-amp power. Well he had one good song in him...

It's like a fierce adrenaline rush and there is this haunting awareness it could be sustained, chemically. After the high comes the low, the sense of disappointment. Nothing can ever be that sweet again. It’s music that really does it for me. Music with all its passion and intensity. Yep popular rock has visceral power. Now gimme my guitar...

***

"I got my first real six-string
Bought it at the five-and-dime
Played it till my fingers bled
It was the summer of '69"
Bryan Adams - Summer of '69

Blooming gorse

New Forest ponies in the road are a common sight at Beaulieu. You just stop the car until they wander away and they won't be hurried! Last weekend's walk took me to Hatchet Moor where the new gorse was blooming. The vivid yellow attracts ponies, donkeys and cows all of which eat it. Quite alarming, as it must be as comfortable as chewing upholstery needles! However the cattle do have lips and tongues like leather.

There are 140 square miles of ancient forest and heathland just five minutes drive west of my house. I know I'm lucky but it's so close you take it for granted. I've lived in the county of Hampshire all my life so have walked this countryside a lot yet still I'm finding new parts to explore. It's a fantastic escape as you can walk for miles and not see a glimpse of civilisation.

'Hello' Picture Sharing seems to have sprung back to life so images are on the menu again. I couldn't see a monthly limit Grace, so call it a glitch. There that's a bit brighter today isn't it!

On the inside looking out

Why fret over what people think of you? Should another’s opinion even leave a ghost of a trace on your soul? Some sign perhaps but not a scar. To want to be thought well of is so achingly human. It is just so hard to believe those you have come to care about see good in you. Yet common sense says they must or they would not keep your company. Here again I reflect my own sentiments onto a third party. That way it feels less like a confessional and I handle it better.

“You know, you are your own harshest critic!” Yes he knew he was and her words still hammered in his head hours after their utterance. Even that was criticism and it cut him open. He loved her unconditionally as a friend and would lay down his life if asked.

He had waded through stinking swamps for years not caring about anyone. His friends drifted off one by one until he was left only with leaches. They sucked him hollow and fell away when he left the bar. Learning to find good new people had been frightening. His new heightened awareness screamed for comfort not criticism. Since he broke off his affair with the bottle his senses were sharp as any razor.

He had discovered the capacity to love those he respected and he yearned for that love to be returned. Scrambling out of the deepest darkest pit had been a success but the price had been high. Sometimes it felt too high. He judged by his own dizzyingly high standards and his love demanded honesty and kindness in return.

Dimly he heard a friend’s voice calling him, reassuring him. The truth burst into his consciousness. She was really saying he had no critics but himself, everyone else liked him at least a little. He awoke crying hard. Hot salty tears of relief streamed down his cheeks. Now he had to try to explain those tears.

Check your lottery ticket shadowman

A clumsy oaf walks through doors that are not fully open, bangs his head and cracks his knee. He sometimes breaks beautiful new things and in short is better not trusted with anything fragile. Last December while surfing for Christmas presents he tripped over Blogger. Curious at his discovery he turned round and inspected it, sniffed it, held its to his ear and shook it. Mmm, this deserved further investigation...

He hit the next blog button one hundred times, read and marvelled. Now here was an outlet he might explore. Perseverance uncovered sparkling gems, like-minded people such as he missed in real life. Creativity awoke as if from a coma and roused its companions, inspiration and imagination. He peered into the abyss of his mind and saw words dripping in love and compassion, welling up from the deep and tumbling onto the page.

Cautiously from the shadows he speaks to others now and they reply. He wants to talk about love and addiction and sadness and sometimes joy. He shares pictures and words with new friends he thinks will appreciate them. Writers, thinkers, painters, pipers I thank you all. I'm taking good care of this fragile discovery.

I’ve emerged a lucky man so I’m checking my lottery ticket. A giant heron is flapping lazily over my garden, head down looking for lunch. Life goes on.

*****

“I got plans and dreams and hopeful schemes enough to make you cry
I’m just waiting for that single perfect point in time to give them all a try”

Slobberbone – Lazy Guy