I half expect to see houses blown away, replaced by a yellow brick road, such was the ferocity of last night's storm. But here I am still in a black and white Northampton as a pre-dawn sun fails to turn the world Technicolor. No rainbow over town. But it's there.
Somewhere.
You can have January in any colour as long as it's grey. Rain continues to fall as a long sigh. Tuesday regains a modicum of self-esteem as people begrudgingly begin to remember its name. Indignant drains gurgle, quite put out being asked to work overtime so soon after Christmas.
A day of headaches, resolution and the expectation of change. The sun shines but much like my electric fire it's on flame-setting only. Deep underground a few buds and bulbs will twitch with the expectation of Spring.
Once more, Nature's New Year's resolution is timeless.
The syncopating rhythm of rain; freeform jazz falls in paradiddles and drizzles as quiet energy bristles. Storms rarely arrive with a set-list; they arrive broody and moody, cigarette lit, on the guestlist. Nature's backing band. Here for one night only to blow you all away.
Kodachrome - The filter to our youth
Kodachrome - Takes colo(u)r to the truth
Kodachrome - Your vibrancy holds sway
Kodachrome - You still open gateways
Kodachrome - Wrings poetry from light
Kodachrome - I wallow in your might
A line of shepherds, stars, donkeys and wise men pass along my street. Local school kids off to the local church for a Xmas concert. I count four wise men. Different from my day. Perhaps they're allowed substitutes? The Virgin Mary argues with a donkey. Apparently, both smell!
Gossiping gusts of wind; tittle-tattle touching the tops of bristling trees, urgent rumours folding and unfolding with the sway of the grass.
Yet dowdy dowager bushes shake their windy bustles, dismissive of such idle hearsay and blustery scuttlebutt, thank you very much indeed!
Sticky, velcro rain grips stolid air; a gravity-defying, hideaway-highwayman, looking to divest (those of us blessed) from any semblance of comfort or warmth. If today you're made to stand & deliver then it's too late for you. To everyone else-be mindful of Dick Turpin. Lurking.
The mulch of leaves from trees of the avenue. Pavements as temporary ice-rinks. Embarrassed slips become much vaunted skips from folk who walked here, hitherto. One man slips but attempts to fly into a jog but the fossilised amber of this tweet will trap his fly. Forever.
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