Been a While

I'm not going to bring you up to speed. Years have passed since I last wrote anything on this blog. In fact I'd even forgotten that it was here for a while.
Its been a little busy in this microcosm.
I've been needing an outlet, somewhere to vent or spew ideas, so I'm back. Who knows if this will be regular, or just something that lasts for a couple of weeks, but... you never know. #helloanew

Eastern Passage

Marigold was happy at the prospect of a drive outside the city and her engine burbled gleefully as I sped along Pleasant St and through Shearwater towards Eastern Passage. The day was an unpredictable one, grey, sleet, rain, snow, wind and occasionally the odd glimmer of sunshine and blue sky bursting from within the heavy cover of grey cloud. A regular Nova Scotian day. The van radio had been stuck on a light rock station for a few months now, and the merry melody of Roy Orbison added to the mood of adventure. I had never been to Eastern Passage even though it was only a few kilometres down the road. The main thoroughfare eventually became Shore Rd, and there were fewer and fewer cars to accompany me on the journey. Marigold passed by rows of cottages, houses and the occasional mansion. A spatter of small stores and supermarkets appeared in front and gradually disappeared in the rear view mirror. Soon, all that could be seen were the houses on the left, and the wide expanse of the ocean on the right. I pulled over for a moment, to admire the view and snap off a couple of memory lane photos. I watched the rhythmic waves make their way towards the shore, casting small cascades of white foam as they broke upon the rocks. The colours were tinged with a grey melancholy, as if even the earth itself was trying to find cover from an expected snow storm. The waves gradually became larger, more powerful and impressive. Far in the distance, the shape of trees and outcrops became obscured as the rain and sleet began to build. I moved into the passenger seat, opened the window and breathed in the cold hard air. The heating in the van was non-existent, and the chilly air crept inside and clung to my fingers. I twisted the camera left and right, searching for interesting views and then captured them. Once saved to memory, I rolled up the window, changed back to the drivers seat and then putting Marigold into gear, I pulled back onto the road and continued through the village. I drove as far as I could, toward the golf course and then stopped when the road ended. A couple of surfers were preparing themselves for time on their boards. Their preparation almost ritual like as they donned dry suits, got their boards ready and then made their way down towards the waters edge. I watched them stand looking out across the water, gauging the force, the waves, the surge and building their anticipation.
The van was getting cold. Marigold doesn't like the cold much and bitches about it whenever possible. Realising that the prospect of having a van with no heat, no power and no will to return home, I revved up the engine, did a u-turn and then started back for Eastern Passage and Cow Bay Road. Considering the wind and weather, there were a few people out on the road, walking towards the village centre. Hardy people. I wondered where they were going, what they were going to do and if they were cold or not. I was beginning to feel it, and I was sat in the cab of the van, so I'm sure that they were either well insulated (which I was not), or that they didn't feel the cold the way I did.
I pulled into Cow Bay Road and began the winding course that would take me passed Rainbow Haven and numerous inlets, small shorelines and countless trees, stripped of all leaves by the winter. The scenery was quiet, damp and rugged. Every now and then a few rays of sunshine would break free from the cloud and illuminate the land with colours of warmth. Then they would disappear again, the view would change back to the mix of dulled fall and winter shades. Beautiful but somehow sad. I slowed the engine, cruising along at a slow pace to ensure I could take in as much of the passing terrain as I could. The ocean lay to the right, and between the trees, the hills and isolated houses I could see the white water of waves and spray build, roar and crash in cyclical fashion. Black dots of surfers moved backwards and forwards, waiting, searching for the rising water that would let them know the time to hop up on their boards and begin their journey towards the land, powered forwards by the strength of the sea. I drove onwards, up and down small hills and then the ocean left my view. I turned onto Bisset Road, the road that I knew would lead me back towards Cole Harbour, and Main Street which I would take on the way home. Bisset Road seemed long and empty, without the sea view, the scenery rolled by as Marigold hungrily chewed through the kilometres, winding effortlessly round curves. I was happy, I had not seen the ocean for a couple of months or so, and the short time spent watching the waves was calming. I drove with contentment, the van happy, the elements contesting gleefully and me sat in the driver seat viewing and feeling it all. As I eventually pulled back onto Main Street and started for home. I breathed in deep, a long sigh of satisfaction. I will return to Eastern Passage, to see it again. Hopefully when it is basking in sunshine and the ocean reflects the sky in shades of perfect blue. I look forward to driving there again and I'm sure that Marigold does too.

View from the Roof

Sun coloured chill as the wind whips the air
I stand facing west and smoke without care.
The burnished bronze of sunsets share
Entices me further, to go beyond there.

Ash drops to the ground and dissolves into dust
I ponder upon an image of trust
The choice is mine, to do what I must
And play the game, stick, twist or bust.

The orb disappears under the earth
Completing its cycle of day, night rebirth
I stand a while longer, a smile curled in mirth
as I contemplate all, and what its all worth.

Daydreams of beauty and hope by my side
A journey onwards taken at stride
Hands interlinked, and on for the ride
Across distant lands, rivers and tide.

I finish the butt, crush the ember that dies
Step back inside and close my eyes
Allow sleep to come and welcome its ties
And dream to wake with tranquil sunrise.

Running

....he seemed to jump from the ferry, his long coat almost catching in the door as he sprinted away. His breath came in short sharp bursts as his feet pounded the sidewalk mercilessly. He shoulder barged through the exit door and spilled into the street, scraping knees and hands on the brickwork ground. Instantly he recovered himself, taking a moment to brush the sweat soaked hair away from his face. His eyes glinted below, wild, alive. Muscles tensed as he rose again to his feet, his legs already in motion and scurrying onwards like a wind-up toy. He ran through the park, scattering dozing pigeons when he ran between them. His arms pumped like pistons, relentlessly driving him along the footpath and across the train tracks. Out on to Alderney Drive, and alongside the canal, people stood and stared at the crazed looking man fighting to control his breath and bounding towards them. They stood motionless, transfixed by the image, wind bellowing through the coat, hair dripping with perspiration flung back over his head with the onrushing air. He dodged to avoid them, left, then right. "Watch it, buddy" called one of them as he almost clipped their shoulder. He briefly looked back at them, still running. "Sorry" he called with fading breath, and then he continued. Up along Portland, the first of the hills, he knew that this time he would have to make it to the top. With renewed vigour he renewed his pace, ignoring the sharp burn in his lungs, his stomach aching and legs stiff. His heart thudding mercilessly inside him. The hill dug in, and he dug in. Running on toes, sprinting upwards in the direction of Pleasant Street. He cornered onto the tree lined road and the downward stretch lay before him. A moments respite before the final agonising inclines towards home. Inside he felt a sickness, a need to wretch. He struggled momentarily, pace slowing, but then blocked it out. Adrenalin powering him now, nothing left in his lungs, his body sapped of strength. Only his mind and heart to throw him forward. The final hill. Gritting his teeth he stared upwards, the incline seemed to rise forever past houses and trees he never seemed to notice but today they stood out vividly, individually. The corner of Cameron Street was just ahead and rounding it he knew he would be there soon. With one last final push of all that he held inside him he concentrated on breath, on muscle and began the ascent. Upwards, lungs screaming for air. Legs numb and almost beyond control. The van came into view, he could see the front path now. Home was near. The final steps were oblivious, no memory of the steps to the porch. He fumbled in his pocket for the keys, shaking with exertion and struggling to put the key into the lock. It entered and slid in. He turned the handle and clattered up the stairs, throwing the keys to one side as he darted for the kitchen.
"Darling, where are you," he called.
"I'm in here," she said.
He followed the sound of the voice guiding him closer, drawing him nearer. As he rushed down the hallway and then sprinted the stairs up to the bedroom he fell, skidding over the final steps and hitting the floor of the bedroom. He couldn't speak. His eyes searching the room, blinded with hair and sweat he managed to focus on her lying on the bed. The sunlight bathing her in beauty. He wept to look, tears began to stream down his cheeks, his mouth curled. Slowly a smile broke free from the exhausted man as he saw the sight before him.
"Its a boy," she said.