Wednesday, 27 February 2013

There's the power of the blackbird

Didja hear the birds today? Didja? 

We're turning now on that angle of winter and spring and I know it with that blackbird song. Melodic and beautiful, it sings, behind us lie cold, grey, shrunken days! Ahead, long evenings, warm nights, bright mornings! 

Then listen to my fantasies. I want white lines about my eyes where my skin folds in from laughter. I want raspberries for breakfast and picnics of cream crackers and strawberry jam scooped from the boot of the car in a field. I want dirt on my feet, scratches on my legs, and my fingernails to break. I want to set out too late, under-prepared, over-ambitious, and without a map. I want to be dragged off hillsides scowling. I want my clothes to tear, my sandals to fall apart and my knickers to lose their elastic. I want to be caught short, wee in bushes, and forget to shave my armpits. I want to come home hungry with sun bristled shoulders that make me wince and I want to lose my wide brimmed hat. I want unwisdom, folly, raw stupidity and temporary bouts of insanity. I want to throw myself about, bring bruises and wounds home to lick. I want there to be hope yet, with my withered soul, my leathered heart, and my thick black sunglasses to hide stupid tears. I want summer, from beginning to end, rain and sun, mist and fog, drizzle and downpour.

Then when autumn comes, I want to look back and say, there was my summer, lived.

A love of life in Tweet Me... when birdsong is music and honey might still be for tea

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