This is a Journal entry by Sitting on the stair

Something to remember

Post 1

Sitting on the stair

Catching up on emails and office news, authorising cheques, checking the gas bill is in fact correct, updating spreadsheets and filling in grant claims - all just like the week before last and the week before that, last week has disappeared. No more real than a day dream, a TV programme half watched, something read in a waiting room magazine.

It was real. It's still real. Right now while the phone rings, the 'You have email' message pops up and on the other side of the window February's bare branches drip over the car park, the sun is drawing the scent of pine, rosemary, lavender and thyme from the dry, sharp limestone slopes in Andalucia. Red Admirals and Brimstone chase across the valleys. Serrins keep up a constant cheesy twitter and eagles lift above ridges and drift silently away again.

A blackbird sings it's full throated song from one of those bare, wet branches over the car park and you're reading through the budget variations. A bright-white gannet wheels on long thin wings, banks, folds those leggy wings and dives 50' into a sparkling blue Med.

Another gannet, an early arrival fishes the Minches. Waves break on the long beach at Seiliebost. Water falls in a thin mist down the granite stacks on Mingulay into the Atlantic. A single drop hits the still, deep, copper-blue pool at Sinoia.

A hotter, dryer sun shines out of a bleached sky onto Domboshawa's great granite whale-back. Rhino sleep in the Acacia shade around the edge of Lake Kyle. Lion stalk the plain again in Gorongosa. Wattle break out in ludicrous yellow fluff balls in the suburbs of Canberra. Rock Parrots line telephone wires. Hibiscus blaze in warm damp greenery in a Singapore park. Shoals of multicoloured butterfly fish graze the Red Sea's coral. Vesuvious sleeps on a horizon. While you wait in the traffic queue around Frankwell and over the Welsh Bridge, they're still there. All as real. All it takes is knowing it.


And then there's this thing you can do ...

Post 2

Sitting on the stair


... when walking on dead grey, grubby tarmac and pavement.

You can instead walk the planet. Each pace you take treading the Earth like a ball under your feet. The air moving past you is the matter of space. Your body moves through the universe, sharing the place of shooting stars and comets.

It's real. True. The dead grey relatively is so passing, it becomes of so little matter it's what is unreal.


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