Blue Skies, Warmth & Words

So, the sun is out and the radio is telling me it's raining and that the weekend is going to bring temperatures of minus degrees: nice. I don't believe the weather reports anyway which is why I am now going to proceed to wash my winter wooly hats (grumble).

But Louis Armstrong is singing about a wonderful world so why not just ignore the rubbish truck banging away outside, the neighbor's shouting and screaming as he rides another drug-fueled trip induced by his drug-infiltrating neighbors, the baby crying next door and the very creative musician on the other side playing Hänschen Klein (a german children's song) over and over again on the tuba in a new, freestyle fashion that lets me believe he has just downed a bottle of carton wine and his fat, greasy girlfriend is watching daytime tv and shouting at him to keep it down. Oh, I do love my neighbors. And it is a wonderful world: if I could just drown all that out!!

In order to better my mood I have rummaged around in my pieces of writing and found something warm, welcoming and lovely. This should do the job:

ON BOBBING 

Three little old ladies 

Bobbing. Three of them; in and out of each other. Chattering; nattering; chirping sweet nothings. Legs wrapped in woolen stripes like Granny's jumpers from long ago. The long age has returned to now. A hustling, bustling trio with wooly bobbling hats and camel-beige, washed-out coats. Woven lace placed delicately around the collar and itchy-looking, mauve mittens covering skeleton-white, drawn fingers. They reach for each other; gathering their bodies and thoughts in unison. Three little old ladies, here, in the cold; bobbing. 

Baby; bob 

A cheeky, dimpled smile. Like a bun: puffy, sweet-smelling, warm and doughy; pudgy and without thought. With its bum stretched out and pom-pom hat bobbing in yellow. Up and down. Bob. Bob. Bob. Hands reaching for invisible hold in its hazy, purple aura; attracting everyone's attention. A gurgle, a cough and off it goes again. With button-nose and ruby lips; muffled noises and un-coordinated gestures he is having a ball. Bob. Bob. Bob. Not a care in the world. How much you wish you were a part of it right now. Up and down. I will remember it and re-create it. Bob. Bob. Bob. Baby: bob. 

Taking flight 

Their heads bob up and down; impulses ricochet off their glossy feathers. Their legs are like springs, a pendulum rests in the middle of their tiny bodies. Birds: as if in love they knock their beaks against each other, chirping and singing as the warm sun fights its way through the icy cold onto their puristic and wonderfully simple bobbing before they take flight into the crystal blue sky. As the caffeine hits in I wonder whether this rush is what they feel when their impulses lead them away from here? Do they think of coming and going as they bob up and down on the shivering branch? Within a split second they have flown away; in unison. After bobbing in the sun; in unison. Bliss.

© as indicated

Right, then I wish you all a wonderful day. Wrap up warmly if the weather has taken its toll your way. And if you can: watch what's going on outside. Because there is magic in every moment.