Writing Sanctuary | Day Six

 

Responses to Beth Kempton’s prompts for DRIFTING

I am out and about in town, showing off the big city highlights, surprising myself by being able to weave a circle and bind the magic, seeing it all through new eyes, appreciating the contrast the diversity the mirrored edifices and a tiny captivating scurrying mouse almost close enough to touch. A quiet moment on the train; while waiting at platform ten; and afterwards, sitting at a tin table with food too hot to eat, carrying the peace of a day well spent and rich in something shared.

. . .

~ DAILY SPARKS ~

Concrete Things

I am sitting on the train to town

A young woman is sobbing, quietly

the man with her strokes her arm

with the back of his thumb

The rest of his hand is concentrated on holding

fast

not falling

The moment before the train arrived

she howled

stop it just stop it

Echoing sorrow

The train is cool

We look ahead

Concentrating on

not falling

. . .

House

My daughter once hissed

Our living room smells of Dementor Piss

Anyone recommend an essential oil

to help with that?

Responding to the invitation to drift into an island visualisation

:

It was exceedingly nice to drift at the end of a busy day (if only in my imagination). 

A child chatted a little way off down the carriage. I floated. Held by the water (i get to be buoyant without a raft: this is my imagination, my rules. I remember Iceland. The impossible can be possible, some places)

I drift from the point.

Which is that, having circumnavigated the sights of London Town and chased my dog through the nettled jungle of suburbia, I find my head bereft of anything more than clear clear seawater sparkling sand the opening sequence of Moana. They already did it better than I ever could.

. . .

Today’s Person from Porlock : I worked around knowing that it was an entirely Porlocked day!

. . .

Today i have fallen in love with London again (but still dream of wild and rugged living with the landscape an open door and a porch away . . .)