Category: Writing

The sun is shining brightly, glaring down from the blue sky – barely a cloud in it. The breeze meanwhile, is cool. Not cold but just taking the edge off the heat from the sun burning high above. The salt in the air mixes with scent of the drying seaweed washed up slightly down the shore. In front of you though is dry sand, blending into the damp sand where the sea is slowly lapping before going out to a deep blue ocean with the sunlight scattering off it. The waves lapping are the only sound. No bird calls. No vehicles. No people. Just the waves.

I feel the sand, dry but firm under my feet… between my toes. My dress rippling in the breeze. I’m breathing slowly and close my eyes as I turn my face upwards towards the sun, comfortably warm. My hair is moving slightly in the breeze but otherwise hanging free. I curl my hands and feel the nail polish on my fingertips. I am barely breathing, peaceful.

The sun has moved, it is now dipping down into the sea. The warmth is fading fast, it’s almost cold. The light is fading too, clouds are rolling in dark and black. A storm is coming. I turn away, putting my back to the remaining light. I look back over my shoulder for one last look as the final bit of the sun finally goes out of sight beyond the horizon. I am tempted to follow, but I look forward again and walk up the beach. The sand slipping under my feet, back up and off the beach. Back to reality.

Sitting inside, the rain is pounding on the windows a slight chill in the air. The drumbeat is soothing, in a way. The glare from the lights and tv artificially brightens the otherwise dark room.

The door is locked. The chain is drawn. When did it last open? Time is blending, hours and even days becoming meaningless. I’m waiting. Restless.

The door doesn’t unlock. The drumming of the rain continues. Nothing ends.

Eyes closed, resting not scrunched. Breathe in….. 2… 3… 4….. Breathe out…. 2…. 3…. 4…

Focus on the physical. The feel of what you’re sitting on. The clothing you’re wearing. What smells there are. The noises around you.

Inwards.

In… 2…3…4…. Out… 2…3…4….

Move from the physical, to focus on the heart, beating in your chest. Breathe in time to the beats. Focus on the stomach, and any rumblings inside it. Feel the tension in your muscles. There will be some somewhere, there always is.

Darkness.

Your breathing will still be slow. Don’t check. That’s physical, and we left that behind long ago.

Move on from the body and focus on the darkness….

Reach in to it. And as you go in to it…. the expanse it contained opens up to you. Infinite. Darkness. Nothingness.

Peace.

The office is stuffy and stale. The end of a working week filled with people and laptops, and the heat from a warm week. You pick up your bag and start walking to the exit. Down the quiet, but still warm, stairwell. Through the door.

Outside.

The sky is grey, constant with many clouds. Or maybe it’s just one cloud. The air is thick with moisture. The clouds full. You can smell it in the air.

You walk to your car. The birds are chirping to one another. Warning one another.

You enter the car, slinging your bag onto the passenger seat. The birds are now silent. Starting the car, a long low rumble of thunder begins. You pull out and the first raindrops start hitting your windshield.

As you drive away the rain intensifies. The thunder keeps rolling on. The sky lights up.

You drive onwards, into the rain. Into the lightning. Into the thunder.

You are free.

Inspired by ‘Stars over Cloughanover‘ by The Saw Doctors. A song from. my past that came into my head tonight, and it’s. still just as excellent as I remember.

I say goodbye in the door of their house. The sun set a long time ago, and the stars are scattered like dust across the sky. There’s a full moon too, behind me as I walk. I walk down along the track, fields stretching out to either side. There’s the sound of my footsteps on the dirt, loosely compressed through light usage. The occasional sound of some nocturnal animals, badgers maybe. In. the open, quiet space it’s easy to pinpoint where they are, off to my right. It was drizzling earlier. Only lightly, but enough to leave everything smelling fresh now.

I amble slowly along the tracks that lead me home. To my left, the faint outline of the ruins rise up. I turn towards them and walk. There’s something. mystical about the stones here, they almost seem to be glowing. Approaching the first stone on. the ground I pause and I lay. on it, legs just reaching off the edge, bathed in. the light of the moon and the stars.

I stare up at the black sky. The stars thrown across it. The moon hung up in the air.

And I exist. I am.

A country lane. An iron-wrought gate. It opens automatically. The car silently glides up the winding drive. A turning circle in front. The car stops. I emerge.

Walking forwards. The doors open, and I enter. The high-ceilinged entry hallway is bathed in light streaming through the high windows above. This is an old house. Hidden passages, though you wouldn’t know it without a careful eye. Wood panelled walls. A library. Several living rooms. A conservatory, a large kitchen to name just a few. The pipes rattle as you draw a bath. That kind of house. A house, with character. With a presence. Even standing there now I can feel the house. It’s looking at me, and sizing me up, as much as I am looking at it.

I didn’t have much stuff to move from my old place. Mostly books and clothes. A minimal amount of furniture. And whilst I could tell that the house wouldn’t have a problem with books being housed inside its walls, it might not be quite as happy with having a refit of its electrics and plumbing.

When you end up owning a house like this, you have to negotiate with the house itself as much as with the seller. If the house doesn’t like you then you’ll have a hard time changing it. Sometimes it will want to change, but other times, like now, a house might be resistant to being brought into modern times. And when a house is in that kind of mood you might suddenly encounter unexpected issues whilst renovating. Issues that would cost a fortune to try fixing, only for them to recur again and again. Damp. Subsidence. Rotting roof beams.

It’s funny how people say that objects sometimes have a mind of their own. They never realise how close they are to the truth. But every saying has to start somewhere with some truth to it.

I know that to renovate this place for the modern era I’m going to need to first get to know the house. So I set about living in her, as she is used to being lived in. I fill her with books. I work around the limited electric points and make do with using logs fires for heating. I get to know her quirks and explore her passages.

Eventually I feel I’ve gotten to know her. And so I start doing some re-wiring. Stripping her down slowly. one room at a time, where possible. I know she likes her period fittings, so I’m careful that new sockets will keep to the existing style, even if there are now far more of them. By the end of this her electrics will be far more suited to our modern needs.

The hot water and heating system proves more of a challenge. She is reluctant to let go of the traditional wood fireplaces, and no amount of experimenting seems to go without resistance. problems continuously occur, as I feared. Eventually, having realised we are at an impasse, I decide to communicate directly with the house. Usually this isn’t necessary, in fact although it’s documented and taught how to perform this rite; there is no record of it having been performed in living memory.

Having found its core whilst first exploring and getting to know the house, I begin the preparations. Runes are sketched on the floor of the library in the middle of the house. Circles. are inscribed, and herbs are prepared.

The following evening, just as the moon is rising I perform the. ceremony, summoning the house to take on a form I can directly communicate with. As I complete the summoning and open my eyes, a fox is there. to greet me.

The fox tilted its head to one side and I blink.
“Not what you expected?” the fox asks from behind a grin.
“Not… exactly,” I stumble out “I expected a more human appearance”.
Bother. This was going to be more difficult than I expected. There’s a reason the saying is that someone is as sly as a fox.

Sun shines
Birds call
Squirrels run and trees rustle

We lay
Leaves fall
One lands right upon your nose

You sneeze
I smile
The world sighs and it is right

A winding country lane. You know the sort. Hedgerows on either side. Bendy and narrow, miles and miles from anywhere and definitely no streetlights in sight. No artificial lights at all…. except for your headlights.

You’re playing music over Bluetooth from your phone. There’s no mobile signal here. Let alone any data. Spotify is out, you’re relying on what you have stored locally.

Sure, you could put the radio on but then you’d be connected. You’d know you’re still in the world. You need to just be alone for a while.

Driving down these unnamed country roads, occasionally passing a farm where the lights are off. If anyone is there they’re fast asleep at this time.

You find this relaxing. It’s just you and the car. No signs of modern civilisation. The stars are clear and the moon is full. What more do you need.

You’ve been driving for hours now, you start to wonder if you’ve switched to a different universe, because anything at all could be happening. It’s a pure escape.

A glow on the horizon. A city is now on the horizon. You sigh. Streetlights. Cars. People. You switch back to the radio. You wonder when you’ll find time to do it again.

Inspired by The Sound of Silence – Simon & Garfunkel

I stood. Looking down upon the streets, as hundreds walked past. I could see the blue of a phone screen infront of them or, if not that then headphones. There was sun. There was silence.

There was noise. Birds chirping, people talking or laughing. But noise was all it was. The sounds didn’t matter to anyone but the one making them. There was silence.

Clouds darkened the sky, and still the people walked unseeing, uncaring of what was happening all about them. The silence continued. The skies opened and rain comes pouring down. Thunder crashes and lightning flashes. Still the silence reigns. No-one caring, except that now the people are carrying umbrellas, or wearing coats. Obscuring from on high the sight of the earbuds.

As a peal of thunder crashes I scream. The thunder fades, the scream fades. I scream again, without the thunder. And still the silence holds. I wonder if others are doing the same. I don’t look to find out.

I leave the roof, go down to the street. I put my headphones on, pull my hood up, and walk. The Silence was undisturbed.