Lady Summer has folded up her skirts and is sitting in her carriage, waiting for the cab driver to finish smoking his pipe and chinwagging with the urchin on the side of the road claiming to be a long lost descendant of Attila The Hun, all dressed in his many furs and fingerless gloves. Winters here can be murderous.
Blue skies around these parts are a rare phenomenon, as the sky is oft bedecked with a thin film of milky white haze, or worse still, thick silvery fog that has rolled in from the channel and sitting nonchalantly with elbows propped on the shore, staring lazily into the wall of heat and sunshine just metres inland.
My experiences of blue skies in recent times were in Spain, the US, and Italy the summer before. So naturally I associate such a wonderful thing with heat and pleasure. With sun-kissed skin, and a tingle in my hair follicles that tells me I’m perhaps a little warmer and more content than is often the case. There is little pleasure in these climes for me, and despite having been born here, my visits to the UK have always been temporary. When I was very young I grew up in the dusty, arid climes of southern Spain, where blue skies kick bee-hives. Blue skies that are so profound and so full of UV light, that even the sea is in awe of its blueness, and somewhat jealous of the sky’s airs and graces.
Change is once again afoot, although I would prefer it to be a hand. Hands are a lot more helpful than feet when it comes to getting a leg up to the ever progressing, elevating stages of life. I’m about to embark upon a very foolish adventure, foolish that is to those fortunate enough to be on the outside looking in, from their unmarred, idealistic perspectives. Those for whom universal wisdom is a category on a TV gameshow that rewards you for being able to regurgitate information like a bipedal encyclopaedia on steroids.
Some changes however, are very necessary, not to mention timely. So although I may seem to be like the Seeker of the Grail foolishly stepping off the side of the cliff and onto the bridge of rainbows looking for that illusive pot of inner treasures, it is precisely that pot of inner treasures that keeps me focussed and able to keep forging on. It is the lure of the ideal that makes the dream a reality. Forearmed, and cross-eyed with that knowledge and hope for more blue skies, I know that this leap may just be the best thing I ever did. Some things you see, just have to give. Sometimes, even the blue skies have to yield to more blue skies.
*(Note to my good friend Argie: My comment was meant for you, but as is often the case, you inspire the writer within me. So I have taken elements and refashioned them into a post. Thank you Argus. I am always deeply appreciative of your wonderful influence.) 🙂