Josie at Sleep is for the Weak published this post on 8 August, 2011.
I walk slow in my heavy boots and the sky is big and dark and shifting and full. It will rain soon, but not yet.
I watch his blonde head weave it’s way ahead of me, the wind blowing it out in stiff fronds that blur with the bent grass from which it borrows its colour.
I feel as full up as the sky. Honestly, it’s like there’s a fucking weather system in my chest. Something that would make a barometer tip and a weathervane spin. Something full of power and, oh God, I don’t know. Potential? I hate that word, usually. Something else, then.
Budding. Incipient. Something alive and green and the kind of purple of closed buds and embryonic cells. The colour of this grass and sky, actually, which I pace through and which tickles my bare calves and makes my head buzz as I hold on to my short dress.
But it’s not threatening. I am not frightened and it is glorious. I want to drink it. I want to ride it. It’s not so much about what’s to come, it’s just about everything that is, that exists. And I know, I’m a stupid, romantic poet with her head in the clouds, but I really feel it. I feel all of it. I don’t know what any of it means, but it means dark birds flying in formation against the sky, and it means the sound the wind makes through the grass and the sight of a ladybird holding on in its force, and it means the flies buzzing round the cow shit and the way Kai’s hair moves, and it means everything.
The storm’s broke now. I’m sat in my sofa watching the rain hit the roofs in lashing waves. You can taste the air, I swear it. Metallic, almost. And it’s dark, but it’s a safe dark. Kai is sat under a make-shift den of chairs and sheets, and that’s how it feels.
Do you know what all this is?
It is happy. I am happy.
Life is mysterious and amazing.
Don't miss a post from Sleep is for the Weak. Subscribe to the RSS feed.
See moreBack to All Best Blogs articles
