Summer Observations: Part 2 by Rebecca Johnstone

Half-formed thoughts perspiring in the slumber of the afternoon and melted ice cream sticky between fingers and down wrists licking it off because it still tastes so good; even mixed with sun cream from earlier in the day and someone shouting, calling, up to no good or just kidding around and isn't that what summer's for before the reality of winter grabs you by the throat and abandons you in your darkest nightmare?
Summer Observations Part 2 Rebecca Johnstone.jpg
Chips greasy in the heat and scraped-off tomato ketchup left on the plate attracting flies and how many tomatoes are in a bottle of ketchup anyway and who cares and who polices that because they're always trying to cut things down and make them smaller with less sugar and salt and fat but not cheaper. One less triangle.
A man scratches his crotch and a mother pulls her little boy in the opposite direction; away, hoping to god that her son won't end up like that but knowing he will because testosterone and genetics and social conditioning and we're all animals at the end of the day. Nevermind. She isn't religious anyway but who else is there to pray to? No don't ask. Seriously. There are other deities and spirits. Don't start that conversation. Just carry on, hurry to the bus stop and check your destination on the solar-powered timetable (clever that) and pay the driver and take a seat. Not at the back, too rough at the back, she's not sat at the back since she was a teenager and definitely not with her son. He's too young for the back. Plenty of time for that but the front feels out of bounds too - not yet in need of those seats so she opts for the middle. The no man's land of the bus. Like her whole life in a way, but noisier. Why can't everyone shut up and get off their phones? God (him again) she's sounding old. She's sticking in the middle though she's not giving an inch.
The bus pulls away and so does the image of the man and his itching crotch framed in the doorway of a boarded up Woolworth's. An empty can rolls up the aisle leaving a stain of residue in its wake. Dirt. It'll attract the dirt, she thinks, though everything feels unfresh in the heat anyway. She can't wait for the clean slate of autumn in more ways than one.

Inspirations of a journey in Spoken Word Poetry by daintydora

This week's poetry was inspired by a drive home on the motorway. It seemed to lend itself to sound, so here's my Spoken Word Poetry and associated musings delivered via SoundCloud.

I've never done anything like this before and I don't have any special equipment for recording sound. It's a bit daunting but exciting too.

I wanted to capture how I felt on this journey; the sun in my eyes, feeling tired, but seeing so much beauty around me, even from a three-lane motorway.

And I wasn't driving at the time. I was a grateful passenger as we left England and two aeroplanes drew a Saltire in the sky as we passed back into Scotland.

The roads were quiet. It was a Sunday afternoon. We passed Gretna and I imagined all the young couples of days gone by as they crossed the border to marry at the Old Blacksmith's and had their whole life ahead of them in sunshine and mists and a huge sky bubbling with clouds.

Beauty is always there, you just need to find it - straight ahead, to the side, or sometimes behind closed eyes.

The sensation of sunshine in my hair by daintydora

I love it when you have a day that starts of sunny and bright and things just go...right, well, unfolding perfectly, from the moment you open your eyes. It doesn't happen often but I find it's always the unplanned days that work out like this, or the days with only a very loose plan. Nothing fancy, no grand ideas, just spur of the moment thoughts anchored around a day out to a specific place or a meet up with a friend and a sense of putting the world to rights in your mind, in your world.

Sunshine halo

Some of my favourite feel-good things to do to (separate from life-enchancing creative pursuits), involve tidying up, decluttering, going for a walk.

The feelings of freedom and elation that these simple acts give opens out the day like a huge breath of air, like the breeze off the sea, like landing in a lush tropical island and getting a while new perspective on life.

(That's how mountains make me feel too.)

Yesterday was cold, brisk even, but with sunshiney pockets.

I felt alive with the sensation of sunshine in my hair and the wind blowing as a walked; refreshing and motivating. I wandered around some familiar places and the sun blocked my view in parts and it exploded out in front of me along the horizon like in a film where the camera shoots into the sun and it creates circles of light and colour in a haze of emotions and poignancy. It was kind of like that.

And I thought about other times in my life, both happy and sad, remembering how the same streets looked and felt to me 10 and 15 years ago. Places I don't live in anymore or find myself in very often. Places that have become hugely emotive in terms of conjuring memories of times gone by.

I think of it a bit as going back to your old school and walking the corridors after hours, empty corridors, feeling a sense of joy to no longer be confined to those stuffy classrooms of double maths and bad French and chemistry lessons gone wrong, but they're also tainted with a kind of sadness for a time that will never be again or come back because it's closed off, finished, gone except for in the recesses of your mind.

But I'm grateful that I'm in this time, my time, the only time I will ever know, and my life is where it is now. And I'm looking forward and ahead.

Hello to a brand new week of sunshine and the wonderful sensations that remind me I'm alive.