it was morning, a few flecks, apologetic remnants of yesterday’s rain which had given up the ghost well before evening even before the afternoon got wind and damped it down with a blanket of cloud-pocked blue… thoughts were marshalling, lining up for the day getting ready to rise up like some kind of zombie army, uncoordinated, random, staggering without really anywhere to go (as I’m sure the last zombie you met was just like that), fanning out this way and that a bit like ripples don’t…… however big, messy, clumsy a splash is the ripples that radiates are always tidy, even, concentric, symmetrically-inclined, exhibiting a certain unassailable order regardless of how traumatic its birth may have been…… ripples are stubborn, refuseniks of chaos, control-freaks…. like thoughts aren’t, though doesn’t stop them having pretensions of such but instead merely tripping over one another, two left feet the lot of them, overlapping, spilling, head-on collisions, ricocheting then scattering like woodlice unexpectedly exposed upon lifting a brick from where they were slumberly sheltering and having forgot to plan for such an eventuality, or more likely not even ‘thought’ of it in the first place…some will remain huddled, infiltrated and exposed longer than others not believing it’s happening, while the majority streak off in all manner of directions as fast as their fourteen legs can carry them (imagine having fourteen legs, I’d like to see you handle them without falling over yourself) defying any predatorial attempts to catch them all… once you let the genie out of the bottle there’s no squeezing it back in, while wondering how it even got in there in the first place…… all the while each woodlice wearing an expression of surprise as much as the one who lifted the brick and taken aback by this explosion of feverish activity, the way ripples don’t…… I hate being woken up suddenly, I imagine the woodlice feel the same…… and thoughts……… …
© 2018 robert greig
here we are again you and I, under different skies, watching clouds that dream of nothing more than vapour, their magic incarnate… you can never hold a cloud to its word as when it’s out of sight it’s out of mind… you’re there and I here, miles of years between us as though somehow we’re connected by this fantastical thread… myths have a lot to answer for you know, of course you know though rarely often think about it, unless you do but then how would I know that, how would I know anything outside my own head for sure when what’s inside it skulks about with even deeper mystery… eleven days til the solstice, til midsummer, til the longest day, call it what you will, one or all or none of the above, call it just another day, a slip of the clock as it is here and now, a day it seems of little or no significance being it failed to be the one that won the kudos of being the middle of the year… ‘X’ marks the spot so beware, I have a marker pen… it hasn’t rained for days here now, has it rained there?… if it has then perhaps there’s proof we’re under different skies, that’s if you need any… chiff-chaff-chiff-chaff-chiff-chaff… no wonder they named that bird the Chiff Chaff, hardy surprising really… of course it’s not actually saying the word ‘chiff’ or the word ‘chaff’ as it doesn’t have a larynx like us, none of them do, so can’t say things as we say them, but on the other hand we don’t have a syrinx… unless you are indeed a bird, are you?… how would I know for sure, stranger things have happened, like birds wearing spectacles… oh yes, you don’t believe me I can see it in your face, but take the guillemot… some guillemots wear them, that’s why those ones are called ‘spectacled’ guillemots… it’s not their official name and it’s not recognised scientifically but dontcha think it’s strange that some have them and some don’t and yet all are just regarded the same species?… I suppose you haven’t given it a lot of thought, maybe you will now, or not, maybe under you skies you have better things to occupy your mind like why do people insist the world is round when it isn’t, it’s roundish, and roundish isn’t round, it’s roundish, ask any geometrician… I do of course exclude members of the Flat Earth Society in this as even they have it wrong, it’ can’t be completely flat when it has lumpy bits called mountains….
© 2018 robert greig