Member-only story
Not a cloud in the sky.
Nothing but blushes of blue to the west and the east in my line of sight. Summer has flown in on a gentle breeze to blow the debris from my mind. Brilliant sunlight passes through my skin
and lightens the weight of my bones;
it floods through my kitchen and washes my feet in gold —
turning the space into a playground for light as lifes rhythm unfolds. Church bells chime briefly in the distance and remind me of a mothers prayer: 'God bless my children and my children’s children’.
Another aeroplane shoots across the sky giving me wanderlust —
for the places I have been and the places I’m yet to see before I return to the sky on some other bright morning far, far away from this one.
I’m thinking about the unwritten poems and the books I was born to write and entrust to time to carry beyond me and my generation
like the things that were passed onto me through my bloodline.
The minutes and the hours roll away,
time stretches the edge of the morning into the afternoon.
On the street below my first floor window
an ice-cream van parks up and entices the children with its familiar lullaby as car’s occasionally drive by with a whoosh and a zoom.
In this moment, this is what peace and quiet in the inner city sounds like; in this moment I feel sanctified.
Not a cloud in the sky.
On this bright Sunday,
the sky remains an unbroken expanse of blushing blue.
