There’s No Sun Up in the Sky
Perception on a summers day in London
It’s early morning. Dawn breaks across the summer sky over London and reveals itself as overcast. Soon enough — the sunrise occurs, but alas; there’s no sun up in the sky. To my mind, this doesn’t seem like a good beginning, but it’s a beginning nonetheless; so — ‘hello morning’. I breathe in the countless shades of grey and feel my lungs already filling with paint fumes — emanating from the freshly painted walls and gun-smoke grey front door from the house downstairs — wafting up through my nose and up to intertwine with this melancholy sky. With each blink of my eyes, unconsciously, I take a snapshot. I’m gathering these pictures in my mind; the sky presents itself as the holy grail for a time-lapsed scene — and I commit this summers day unfolding to the reels of my memory. Between here and the twilight and then — no doubt — beyond, find me looking up at the sky; this will always be one of my better habits. Today, across the Universes shifting watercolour canvas, there’s no sun up in the sky.
Time rolls by me. I rise reluctantly for the school-run that beckons. The short drive goes smoothly, the car windows are rolled-down and the sky tumbles in. Little man and I agree that the air smells like stale sweat and burnt meat. There is a hint of menace about it, I wonder if the sky is in cahoots with every meteorological element — to brew up the perfect storm. The irony is; most of the world, is already living through a deadly one. The greyness and slight chill in the air — persist. It keeps the suns cheeks hidden and there is no need for me to shade my eyes from its soft glow filtering through. As a wry smile cracks my (resting bitch) face, I acknowledge, this is a far cry from the sweat beads dripping down my skin and sun-spots dancing inside my eyeballs — during the mini-heatwave that I had complained about two weeks before. Today, there’s no sun up in the sky.
It’s late afternoon. Where the sky meets the trees, the grey appears to deepen in preparation for the impending dusk; I wonder if it will be another starless night. My sombre expression matches the gloominess of the sky as I move through the littered streets, the cool breeze rolls the garbage around like this built up cities tumbleweeds. I can attest, this modern city, has not found a way to Keep Britain Tidy. Sometimes, I struggle to measure any hope for humankind when there seems to be an epidemic of soulless zombies all around. Entering the playground, I’m hit with a cacophony of children’s squeals scattering my thoughts as they mingle with the intermittent car horns — no doubt from stressed parents coming and going ‘back to school’ in this weird midlife return to school days. The whole thing irks me, but the children’s delight does remind me of the soulful exuberance that can be extracted from being alive. Now, my thoughts shift and linger on the visions of distant fairgrounds and their lights to the east, strawberries and tennis at Wimbledon with its ‘oohs’ and applause to the west, he and I rolling around feeling high in between the sheets — summer loving at its finest. There is nothing quite like it.