I am in a shroud of mystery, trudging over the football field, goal posts of white and rust, the mist is hanging heavy over. Matted dead grass clings to boots, summer’s greens and autumn’s golds, watching the seagulls as they glide in and out of the fog above me.
Ghostly houses in the near distance, an empty easel in a third floor window. I pass through the dying park, a pastel purple shirted spectre, leaves slowly start their turn, an empty lead on a decaying bench, a stone war memorial matches the sky. places painted with rain in grey.
Crawl into the painting, slip in between strokes, wrap up in warm colour. It hangs there waiting, in a drab sitting room, dust over its entrance, broken bottles below. Beauty in chemicals, powdered still waves, an idyllic harbour, away from the storm. She stands there silently, looking out to the seven seas, water coloured by her charm. A face that was never painted, a familiar soul, with welcoming arms, beckoning the oceans, inviting us to escape.
You float, that is the best way to describe it, it’s also the worst, you’re better than that. Your skin is the palest blue, you are the envy of the sky. Clouds won’t touch you, oceans will mimic you, lost air who found each other, an angel between atmosphere and space. You’ve probably had many names throughout our history, clarity can’t compare. I can’t define you, never will we. Halcyon Pale is how I think of you, but it will never pass my lips. You are forever.
A spare room full of dreams and hope, arms aloft to the submariner’s scope, funk and New York nightlife join in. Conversations through a stranger’s window, enthusiasm, singing and my boy’s smile. Red wine washes away the nine to five, sun setting to blue and golden skyline, holiday magic that money can’t buy.
“Are you going to come out? It’s OK”, they ask. Tears roll down a fat cherubs face, 7 years old, hiding under a classroom table, children can be so cruel. My careers to date: A Battenberg restaurateur. Managing director of Jurassic Park. A mad scientist. A steam train driver. Manchester United goalkeeper. Princess Diana (with a wig improvised out of my school jumper). Crazed enthusiasm, wild imagination, anything is possible. Swimming the oceans in the swimming pool, hunting for fairies and insects in the corner of the field, tomorrow I will be Inspector Gadget.