Posts Tagged ‘blue’

Cotton Candy Tufts

Cotton candy tufts

Of cloud hang lazily in

Majestic blue skies.

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One second I’m asleep, the next I’m wide awake.  What, for the love of God, woke me up?  Sure, the radio is still droning on…some program discussing the role of Christian missionaries among Islamic peoples.  Nope, that can’t be it…I’m sure if anything it should’ve put me back to sleep. Why else would it be on the radio in the dead of night.  So, I roll over and close my eyes forcing myself back to sleep.  After a few minutes of tossing and turning, I still can’t get into a comfortable position to warrant the egress back to the Land of Nod.  I sigh.  Levering myself onto my elbow, I glance over the prone, sleeping figure of my lover to the alarm clock.  In bold red digital numbers, the time reads 2:26am.  UUGGHH!!  I flop back down and will myself to return to a state of nocturnal bliss.  Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…although there is no traditional clock, I can hear time ticking away.  My mind turns over like the engine of a car on a cold, winter’s morning.   Gggrrr….Gggrrr…Gggrrr….VROOM!   That’s it…no stopping it now!

Suddenly a light bulb goes off in the recesses of my mind – “Duh! I’m thirsty.”  Ok, I’ll give this one a go.  Tossing off the duvet and swinging my feet to the floor, I make my way across the room to the closed-door guided by the eerie blue light emanating from the radio.  Without any thought to my partner, I open the door as if its full morning and stumble into a severely darkened hallway.  Instead of going into the kitchen or bathroom, my feet lead me to our living room to where I left a started bottle of water earlier in the day.  Again, I’m confronted by an eerily lit room all thanks in part to the electronics in the corner.  Giving it no further thought, I grab the bottle and take a large gulp.  Replacing the cap, I return the bottle to coffee table and trace my steps back to the bedroom.  Once inside, I move to my partner’s side of the bed and proceed to turn off the radio.  The soft blue glow immediately disappears.  As I turn to make my way to my side, I nearly trip on his sandals.  I curse under my breath about his attempting to kill himself should he get up and fall over them.  I bend to pick up the offending footwear and move them to the foot of the bed as I continue my journey to regain sleep.  I stretch out on the bed and close my eyes once again.  Minutes tick by and I can’t help but become aware of the silence permeating the room both from within it and from outside.  It invades my mind, causing me to continue my struggle.  Turning toward my lover, I rest my hand upon his warm body seeking succor and a chance to focus my thoughts elsewhere.  I lay with my eyes closed and my hand on his back for several minutes…until I feel a tingling surging through my hand and white flashes pulsating in my mind’s eye.  This is utterly useless.  I’m not going to fall back asleep.  It’s over!  The battle is over and I am clearly not the winner.  And that’s when the words start to form…yes, these words and many more.  Alright, might as well make it productive or at least try.

Once again, I toss off the covers, pick up my nightgown, grab my glasses and make my way back to the living room.  I immediately walk to the closed curtains and open them a fraction.  I reach my hand through and push the window open as well.  Moving over to the sofa, I reach behind it, turn on the light, sit down and take up my computer.  As I press the power button, it whirrs to life with its familiar chime.  Thank God I plugged in the headphones before turning it on since the chime alone could wake the dead during a thunderstorm.   As I have a clock on my desktop, I notice it is only 3:25am.  OMG!!!…It’s only been an hour since this whole episode has started.  UNBELIEVABLE!  Does time stand still in the middle of the night?  It must, I conclude.  Before I opt to pen anything worthy in my book, I jump into the popular music software of the day and choose some calming music to better help with the flow of the creative ideas.  Ok, time to get started…but instead I pop onto the internet to check if anything is going on.  Fine, it will give me a chance to collect my thoughts.  I soon realize I’ve been on my favorite social network site for over an hour…damn is it addictive.  Ok, ok…time to get cracking.  I open up a new word document and start typing.  Periodically, I glance up and look through the slight opening in the curtains…to gauge how long I’ve been in my waking state.  Although the clock on the computer reads 5:00am, outside is already light with the sky a pale blue.  It looks like it’s going to be a fine day.  However, as I stifle a yawn, I have a funny feeling I’m going to miss most of it.  Too ironic, isn’t it.  Anyway, pleasant dreams everyone…

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Down a sleepy, narrow, tree-filled lane lies the little hamlet of Heydon.  Apart from the lane, there is no other way in or out of this quaint place.  Legend has it that Heydon is the one place that hasn’t progressed into the 21st century, let alone the latter half of the 20th.  Within its boundaries, there isn’t much to catch one’s notice: a miniscule convenience store, a coffee-house/bakery,  the public house,  a handful of terraced homes , and the impressive grey stone gothic styled church with its yard dotted with the headstones belonging to those members of the community who have long passed away.  And in the centre of it all lays the town square.  That is all there is in this little hamlet. Yet people seem to flock here, that is once they find the lane.  These visitors are like those on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, each seeking something, but unaware of what.  It is here in this place which time seems to stand still; where a seemingly interesting tale weaves into existence.    A tale seemingly involving the public house and the mysterious secrets it holds.

A miasma of cobwebs enveloped the room, along with layers of dust and decaying bits of paper.  To look at this room, one would observe it isn’t grand in size or nature.  There are no overly remarkable features belaying its principal purpose.  It’s just a room like any other.  The walls appear grey, the peeling wallpaper having faded over time.  It’s hard to tell what colour the paper should be; ivory, blue or some other shade to compliment the furnishings.  To the left of the entrance, sits a massive English Oak bookcase, filled with all manner of books, journals and periodicals of its day.  The occasional bit of news rag can be gleaned from between the occupants of the shelves.  At the very top sits a huge glass bowl which is overflowing with every conceivable oddity; rare feathers, rocks, a mummified mouse, a worn bridle and bit, etc.  On the wall opposite the door is an unimposing fireplace; its tiled face totally obscured from view by a thick black covering of soot.  The mantle appears to be made of the same grey stone as the church across the way.  It isn’t ornately carved, just simply fashioned to be the focal point of the room, jutting out approximately 18 inches from the wall.  Atop the stone rests the mantle clock which stopped counting time many years ago.  It’s ormolu face barely recognizable beneath the filth, as if it were a young boy out tramping through the mud who reappears home in need of a severe wash.  The other objects on the mantle seem to cower in the presence of the clock, yet the half-dozen, once colourful bottles stand at attention almost defying the importance of it.  And above it all rests a formerly opulent mirror in an intricately carved and gilded frame; the only extravagance in the room.  The mirror appears dejected now and out-of-place.  The layers of grime have warped its view and a crack has developed over time in the upper left hand corner, working its way down the width.  The mirror seems to project a sad perspective of this room.    In the centre of the room sits a writing desk which still proudly displays a clear glass oil lamp, an inkwell long since dried up and the remains of a quill pen.  It’s only drawer, with its unremarkable iron fitted lock, sits slightly askew giving the impression that the owner hurriedly shut it on his/her last visit to the room.  The coordinating chair is manoeuvred at the correct angle to allow a lady with full skirts to deftly slip between and sit at the desk.  Underneath the simple, utilitarian set lies a once stately red wool rug covered with dust and debris.

Outside, the intensely bright morning sun struggles its way through the filth encrusted window, giving the illusion of only the weakest sunlight existing beyond the room.  And within that beam of light, dust motes seem to dance or bounce off one another; giving the room a magical feel.  And magic it is.  No one within the establishment knows this room exists.  The inhabitants of the building have never found a door leading to this wondrous venue.  They have gone about their daily lives constantly traversing not more than two feet from the entrance, yet never knowing of its existence.  Very strange.  They all spotted the window outside, yet have never ventured to discover its source.  So curious.  It’s probably because the window too is of no special consequence.  A perfectly square, wooden-framed portal with typical Georgian glazing set into the whitewashed wall.  From the outside, one could see nothing more than a bunch of wild roses which sprung up on the inside of the glass.  There are no window coverings to be seen, although that doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.  The years of neglect and filth did their job in making the window anything but ordinary.  The previous owner of the property did attempt once to peer through this portal.  He took the ladder from the shed, propped it up against the side of the building, and carefully picked his way up to the window on the second floor.  The sun was shining so he figured it would make the task easy.  He couldn’t have been more wrong.  No matter which way he cupped his hands or turned his head, he couldn’t make out anything beyond the panes of glass other than the single pink bloom of a wild rose.  “How was this possible,” he thought.  This rose was thriving from within although no one knew of its existence except from the outside.  Very puzzling indeed.  Eventually though, even that owner stopped looking for the room.  It became known in Heydon as the room time forgot and in truth that is what it really was.  No human had set foot in the room in over 100 years.  If ever found, it would be a treasure trove of what life was like, for the room was left on that fateful day when she walked out and locked the door forever.  Sealing its fate and keeping the magic it contained within it for all eternity.   Or so she thought when she cast the enchantment upon the room.

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The Moon

The moon reigns supreme

Surrounded in midnight blue

With stars as jewels

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Fluffy clouds glide by

Against a canvas of blue

Constantly changing

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