To and From a Room

  Trying to interrupt this re-run; Paint the sun in a light blue sky, The sea is calm, a gentle breeze So I won't freeze if I go in The sand is only slightly rough And I can run quite easily  No-one else is there but me But it's not eerie The cliffs are high I know But I'm not looking up, And here's a broken cup I'll pick it up before I go it's touch breaks the waves rise The storm will find us Unprepared upon an empty beach Abandoned souls just out of reach. 

  Memories parade across the mind, like television, but sometimes without sound.   We're hurrying along infront of a seemingly endless counter filled with a myriad of different cakes. A distant memory of that first visit to Paris returns, pressing our noses up ( metaphorically speaking ) against the window of the small patisserie, marvelling at the array of strange concoctions. We were hungry but made do with fresh baguettes, hunks of Gouda cheese and those huge delicious crispy Golden Delicious apples, the like of which I've never tasted since.  But now, the array of cakes on display are quite different. The person filming is huffing, snuffling, going at some pace. I'm mystified at first. What's the point ?  Today's parade of memories brings a wide smile to my face.  How time changes things.  Lights pass over, the landscape brightens briefly. Here comes another view. 

      There is a small audience     who turn, sad eyed or expectant     on their hard unforgiving chairs     infront of the large window.         Quickly down the short space      between the silent gathering     fleeting thoughts of jumping     into the blue beyond     the speaker turns, looks up,     An oblong sky adrift with clouds     frames the figure whose gaze is fixed     upon some opposing point      The voice which emanates is loud     as though addressing a huge crowd     the witnesses sit frozen still     Attention caught by sheer will.      Booming vowels and growling sounds     tumble from the speaker's mouth     Unintelligable to the listeners     frozen to allotted points.          On leaving, the audience, shocked,...

    T hey created a peculiar tableau; an elderly lady sat cross-legged on the rough grass of the hillside and her personal assistant tech perched precariously beside her, both looking across at the distant horizon.  " I think we should go back now June. The dark clouds on the horizon are gathering speed" advised the assistant.  June turned to look at Dovey. She still wasn't used to it's voice emanating from speakers rather than a mouth. It was like listening to the radio. Pleasant, but eerie in this situation.  " Let's live a little my friend.  I'd like to stay in the open and watch the storm ". June was, in fact, feeling quite tired after trekking up the steady incline of the hill. She was no longer surprised it had been designated a mountain.  " Could you find us a suitable place to take shelter nearby ? "  If robots could sigh, Dovey would've. Instead, there was the merest, almost imperceptible pause whilst a thorough search of their...

  She overheard him say " I'm the homeless bloke you can't be arsed to throw some coins to " which struck her hard. And she thought, I'm the woman wandering round the bus station late at night with all her worldly goods in a shopping trolly.  She didn't know why this was but she'd always remembered arriving in that city in her teens and seeing the woman in the bus station with her trolly full of old plastic bags. She was quite often there whenever she went to catch a bus, it was probably somewhere to sit and keep dry in that relentlessly rainy city. (Those were the days when you were allowed to sleep on benches, which is important if you've missed your last bus or train or have no other place to sleep that night).  So she kept the two images with her like two battered photographs and sometimes wondered what would become of them, especially when it rained relentlessly or if it turned to snow.                  ...