A glorious late September afternoon in Brighton.
As we clamber out from the sea, me ungainly squawk floundering, some doomed wingless bird… I ouch eek my way up the slope towards our bags, the sanctuary of a towel
‘i am not your friend for your elegance’, fair enough
later, peering through the hole in a hag stone, eye snags on eye… ‘helloooo’
then casually flicking small pebbles down the beach, delighting in the way they rebound, several flea hops in each and every direction!
the unpredictable popcorn randomness… here… then there… then about turn, back the other way
i tell you how i love to be up at ditchling beacon at sunset, a giants shadow cast beyond and across the land, with a gleeful cackle, mimicking the crows caw, i clasp my hand shut… blotting out the entire village of Fulking in the valley below… omni-potent, Ozymandias, lord of all i survey
you tell me about paddle boarding at sunset beneath the murmuration of starlings, silent, nary a cheap, but for the whoosh then whoop, the plunge of air, imaginary bellows lung… and watch out for the rain of starling wee!
to blunder warble on, explaining how i fell asleep watching one documentary, then awoke later to a program on Japanese master restorers… their extravagant focus, a diligent application, the overwhelming, and lets be honest televisually soothing attention to detail
‘i am not your friend for your precision’
(me thinking there’s probably an awful lot of reasons why i’m ‘not your friend’… this game could go on for a while!)
later, the grand depart, back to the town
whilst walking up the slope, a westering sun behind us, shadows yawning, stretching pleasant out
some pondering, mulling before town cryer pronunciation
‘i am your friend for the way you regulate my nervous system, your calming presence’
I reply ‘yes, yes, but look, see how amazing my shadow is when i furiously waggle my hands!!! it’s ridiculous!’… the shadow of my lurch broad swollen arms, a frantic fluttering wrist swivel, truly it is glorious!
‘I am your friend for your calmness… and playfulness’
guffaw