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Dawn in Christchurch

1 comments | 11:00 pm | top |
Looking down at his worn-out work-boots, and viewing the world through what academics refer to as peripheral vision, but what he prefered to call "looking at everything but nothing", the man made his way rapidly down the sidewalk. Lining the path on either side was a rough and yet strangely beautiful scattering of decomposing leaves - of a wide spectrum of golden and red hues. The grass verge was damp, vibrant and dark green with the drops of frosty dew still on each blade, but trodden on and muddy as he passed the bus-stop. The 7-foot brick wall to his left brought back memories, as he strode briskly past. Standing on one leg - and then the other, leaning with his back against the solid wall, waiting for the school bus... Playing with his shadow, pulling leaves off the long-suffering tree, or huddling under the shelter of the wall as the rain drove down, making him wish he had brought his rain-coat.

But that was long ago. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, straightening his shoulders, raising his head and then nodding to the man who passed him, walking his dog, in the early, freezing morning. The almost indiscernable nod, coupled with the set-jaw and an almost equally indiscernable wink and the beginnings of a tired smile. Protocol.

The moon in front of him was fading to grey as the dark navy sky began to lighten into pale blue. It was a particularly good song playing on his MP3 player, and he felt gay as he looked up at the sky. The World went into slow-motion, and with a growing sense of elation and awe, his head back as far as possible without falling over, he stood still and spun slowly round and round a couple of times. The stars were still visible and the sun was rising on the horizon, sending rays of warmth and blinding light in all directions.

Turning his shoulder to the wind and continuing on his way, he was glad for his balaclava. Rolled up so as to appear more like a beanie, it kept his head warm - and with the collar of his heavy-duty Rod & Gunn jacket turned up, it kept most of the searing, biting cold out. Adding to his style were lightly faded jeans which scuffed along the ground as he walked. Leaves lay across the path now, and he kicked them as he walked, watching interestedly as they fluttered up and fell down again...


Blogger Lydie said...

I love this bit of prose andy. It shows a great attention to detail... I so want to write like that. And, good on you for reclaiming that 3 - letter word.

8:01 pm, June 01, 2008 

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