I sat, my pants rustling as they rubbed together on the way to the floor. My boots felt warm around my feet, that snug feeling, like an old worn pair of slippers; bringing good memories instantly back to the front of my mind. A smell filled the air, a mixture of wet dog and summer dew . . . certainly different.
I lent forward, a fast click click click click and a few slow clacks meant I was strapped. My eyes wandered up to the ipod in my hands. I started to browse, to peruse, . . . something easy, something flowy, chilled out, something styled . . . Girls Aloud, perfect riding tunes. Slipping the ipod back into my fleece coated pocket I looked up, the first few lines of ‘sound of the underground’ drifted into my ears. I blinked as the floodlights immediately glared at me blurring my vision before my eyes could adjust. They seemed to light the action ahead, as if holding this scene in a precise moment, looking out over the towns orange lights, held in this bright stage, in a spotlight. Water jets sprung from the floor scattered seemingly in no particular order or grid, they were not powerful but instead produced a light mist dusting the black carpeted arena below with a sense of mystery but also beauty.
‘Its good, but its just not snow, is it?’
‘Cant you see that it’s just raining, ain’t no need to go outside’ so I would do exactly that, ‘I understand where you’re coming from jack, but I have been in all day and I need to get out.’ I pushed the door too behind me making a soft thud as it hit the latch. The sounds drifted out of range. The wet leaves brushed the top of my head as I stooped under the maroon branches. Following the well-trodden sodden path I watched my shoes seemingly soak up the moisture through their tiny pores. Slipping my hands into my pockets I felt the comfort of jeans that only a well-worn pair can offer.
I stopped, and stood, still. I looked into the ashened rocks of the fire pit. The smell was fresh with a slight hint of manure for the adjacent fields. It reminded me of home. The rain dripped onto my shoulders and everything around, almost cleaning the air. I could hear very little at first but as my senses adjusted I could hear the more subtle sounds of the countryside filling my mind. Birds hiding in the trees the pitter, patter of rain on my jacket, a passing train in the distance, the river gargled beyond and overgrown patch of weeds, I looked more closely at the beaten tracks that split the meadow grass like a lattice, just hiding the goodness underneath. The single young birch tree stood monumentally on the island in the middle of our little paradise.
‘is it wrong to talk to yourself when your alone,’ I asked.
The sun gleamed through the icing covered trees and onto the ridges above. Blues skies commanded the landscape taking over the horizon, seemingly endless, only split by a single contrail. The smell of pine needles was faintly apparent on the breeze. Everything else was fresh. The morning sun was bright and already high in the sky, and looking down at the untouched layer of beautiful white felt gave me that fuzzy feeling or excitement similar the one you get on Christmas eve before trying, and eventually failing to get to sleep. Apprehension and excitement. I could hear ‘lemon jelly – spacewalk’ in my headphones as they hung loosely around my covered neck. I imagined that first turn to look just as good and easy as Gigi Ruf made it look in ‘PoP’. I like to think dropping into a fresh sump is similar to stepping onto the moon for the first time, completely untouched territory, though how could I compare, I have never been to the moon. Although the full face wrap and goggles seemed almost spaceman-esk. Only one thing disturbed this perfect moment
‘ why do parents always have to be right, I wish my dad was with me now’
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