Category Archives: adventure

moment 24

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the sky is so dark here. real dark. not like the dark of the city which is like a deep, dark blue. illuminated by the streetlights. the lights of shop windows, offices, apartments. the lights of cars going somewhere, quick and fast. a blur of light up from the city, into the sky, making it dark day. the sky is never black in the city. just the colour of uniform. the stars lost, devoured, consumed by the city life. florescent lights are our wonder now. laser lights across the sky, picking out buildings. no room for shadows. nests are filled with birds with insomnia. tablets on a branch. if only we could sleep. the streetlight flickers. blink on. blink off. blink on. turning backs to the light. but here it is real dark. black of soul dark. reaper cowl dark. even trees become invisible. you have to sense them. sound echoes in its closeness. it touches the ground. spreads. over every blade of grass until all are nothing. a void. a board to be chalked upon. above are shapes i had forgotten. shapes like stars. pinpoints of white in the sky.

moment 23

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i left the house. needed to get away. on my ten speed, blue with silver. through the quiet traffic. across town. anywhere. just not there. down the path by the red brick youth club. stream running nearby. follow the stream. across the bridge over the weir. a moment to watch the water tumble and fall. a froth of white turbulence. across I went. no cycles allowed. on-wards into the park with the river running through it. i came upon my stepfather and friend. fishing. watching the bobbing of the float cause ripples on the water. enticing. i took the fishing rod, metallic blue, bottom of the range. a finger resting, watching the line. waiting. the fluorescent float bobbed. then disappeared. up again. then down. a fish biting. a hook cutting in. i wound the reel, pulling occasionally. wound him in. the line straight and taught, heavy. i pulled and wound, pulled and wound. the hook caught. up to the bank. up into the air. the fish thrashing, twisting, spinning on the line. i brought it into shore, on the grass of the bank. its rainbow colours hinted of deep magical places in the sunlight. of freedom in the green reeds, along the beds of the river. the caress of the current on scales as it ran along the body. a never-ending world. i watched as the fish gasped for freedom. its mouth opening and closing in the air. too much oxygen. open. close. open. close. hook through lip. i bent down and carefully removed the hook. carried the fish, in the sun, gleaming, to the sparkle of the river. lay it down on the water. watched it swim free. i left the rod on the bank, said my goodbye to my stepfather and friend. cycled slowly home. through the sleepy traffic of the town. up the hill past the tin topped house. to my door. i opened it quietly. went into the lounge. the rabbit was dead.

moment 20

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there was a break in the clouds as the rain changed from torrential hard and heavy to torrential light. they sat in the car chatting as mum, the driver, followed the voice of the SATNAV. they discussed the merits of square crisps. the SATNAV points to a pass with dire warnings of not suitable for lorries and avoid at winter. but they are city folk. they sat sipping prosecco as the carpet shop burned in the nights and youths ran from shops with bags of rice. they sat reading books as the drug gangs stabbed each other over a postcode. they sat sipping tea as buses exploded and bombs went off on the underground. the next day they shopped in town. how bad could it be? the road wound its way through green rocky hills, sheep crossing their path. grey stone in green with the littering of white forms too focused on the ground to give way to a car. the road narrowed into one. twisting L-shapes with occasional space where another could pass. maybe. please don’t let another car come. please leave the road free. high in the heart of cumbria they stopped to take a moment on her back. to admire the curves of her body. the rise and fall of many limbs that receded into the horizon. a photo opportunity with a sheep then onwards down a spiral of road, each turning a fall. they passed on the way the fallen travellers to potholes. hoping, wishing, begging they did not join them. they passed on the way pensioners in small cars going in the opposite direction they had been. if only they could call to them. if only they could cry a warning: don’t do it! but too late, they were gone. and so the road continued to twist, curling its form around the tyres, flicking its tongue at their wheels. just as they thought: this is it. the narrow winding pass came to an end and they saw a road.

moment 19

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he rode at the back. wheels turning like a ‘45. three gears weren’t enough. the heavy frame of the Chopper didn’t help either. yellow with long slung handlebars and a seat two could fit. he would collect his sister from brownies. her sat behind him as he peddled home. complaints of silver cleaning. there was that one time they had got stopped by the police for riding on the pavement. and for her sat like that. they had got off and walked until the police car was out of sight. then they had enjoyed the speed of the hill. the air through the air. the thrill of doing something risky. the blur of the hedges of houses. the slow stop at the bottom on worn brakes. but now he rode at the back. his friends ahead up the curving hill. cursing the bike as the distance grew. they laughed ahead with calls and the joy of being on an adventure. he wanted to be home. to rest his legs. he wanted a bike like theirs. 10 speed racer with thumb wide frame. large wheels to reduce the need for peddling. he glanced up at the trees that curved down over the road that let in a pattern of light. hints of another world on the road. one of shapes that flicker or gently sway with an occasional dart of black birds. as he reached the big bend, ian was waiting for him. they both gave a knowing smile of best friends and continued together. ian in front, him struggling behind. just as he thought they would be cycling to the heavens, they met the others in a break in the line of trees. a narrow track led into a wood, the path muddy with pools of water. mirrors of a dark canopy. they bumped along.  surrounded by the tall netherworld of tree trunks.  pine leaf forest of brown and silence. that felt as if they had left the world behind. the world of terraced houses, back garden borders, and too interested neighbours. a world of cars, people and school work. but now they were the four outside the realms of people. the four knights on their stallions, although his was a nag, entering the world of fairies and maidens. until they met a fence. a new wooden fence with a gate. they pushed it open, undeterred and rode on the trail. banks of mud now rearing on either side, topped with small trees and bushes. a turn to the right and they were there. almost hidden but if you knew the secret you could find it. the lake. the lake older than the lady rising with a sword. the lake still with secrets and deep depths. they left their steeds.  and sat by the water’s edge. pulling out sandwiches covered in silver foil from their jackets. too happy to say anything. they had reached the fabled prize and were receiving their reward.

moment 18

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a path taken. terraced houses with metal sleeves. yapping dogs at gates mark the boundaries of freedom. a glass jar with string handle swings. what will it be today? a wide open road. not so busy now. the quiet hours. a quick clash and climb down. bridge marking the spot. a trickle of water. pebbles and weed. the sign of a stream. eager eyes look. the quickness of the young defeated. never mind. optimism prevails. darting hands reach and clasp. a tricky customer escapes. aching back pushes another strategy. jar flat in water. waiting. waiting. a lone tiddler edges near. then in. a grab and a swing. the beast captured. weed added for company. the proud hunter climbs up, carefully. follows the path home. trophy held aloof for all to see.

moment 16

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rumble strewn ground. sounds of mortar in the distance. shells stood where homes once were. the carcass of a tank stood in the road surrounded by the fallen. blood patterns on brick and littered bones. he hid behind a wall that once was a building. weren’t they meant to be winning? he remembered the time they had landed. the embrace of the sea. what a sea! he had never seen such blue. the sound of sand beneath boots. the arc of birds across a clear sky. they had marched through green. small villages with friendly locals. an offer of wine and a pat on the back. an easy time. they marched on. over poppy fields, polka dotted landscapes. bees led the way. then the sky darkened. rain began to fall. the sound of distant guns. experience told him they were close. they had entered foolishly. too in the open. he took the route behind rubble, close to the walls. he was no fool. the young fell. first to go was Ajay. three shots to the head and gone. he had liked him. but in war attachments were deadly. better to look after the self. the weapons lay beyond reach. next, was Will running for the tank. he had cried a warning but too late. landmined. a cloud of blood and bone. next Jacob, the leader, taking the high point in a tower with sniper rifle. but they were ready. a trip wire saw to him. so now all alone. crouching behind a wall. bullets hit brick nearby but not there. perhaps it was safe to look. just a second. he got himself ready. moved cautiously and peered around the corner. a crack of a gun. the last thing he saw were the words Squad Killed.