I wrote this last night, whilst trying to work and actually watching the flying instead.
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I’m supposed to be working. For a moment, I have stopped, and opened a new page and am just letting my fingers think for me. I’m sitting in the car whilst the lads fly planes behind me, and I’m not working, I’m listening and looking.
It’s amazing what details one can see from inside a car. The huge variety of greens, even in one kind of plant. The shiver of a grass stem when I would swear there is no wind. The glint of late evening sunshine off of a plane wing. The sound a Zaggi makes when it takes off. The blue of the dusking sky and the shimmer of the clouds that wisp across it, less of a threat of rain, and more of a mention of water droplets. The silence inside the car, where there is just me, and the clock, and the keyboard, and the faint sound of voices, and the engine of a plane, and suddenly I realise that this is not silence at all, that even though I have come to the car to be alone, instead I am surrounded by sound and sight, and I am reaching out through the blog to the Unknown Reader and in fact we are never, ever, truly alone.
Touchtyping my way, feeling not blindly but with faith in my fingers, faith that they know what they are doing and that they can bring the words from my sleeping inner self out into the world, birthing the prose carefully, lovingly, into a harsh atmosphere of criticism and yet hopefully, those same fingers craft the words that encourage others.
Disturbed by responsibility, I provide snacks, and juice, and pull the keyboard back onto my lap again. The moment is almost out of my reach, but I close my eyes, my ears, my thoughts, and just rely on touchtyping to stumble it’s way into my mind again, hooking the words that ache to be released, and letting them into the sunlight once more.
It is cooler now, and the sky is darkening. The pile of work is calling, and I know that soon there must be teas, and bedtimes, and cuddles, and the warm darkness that is a loving home at night. Tomorrow there is working, and hospital, and prodding and poking and an all clear to come, and a return to work and an extra tutoring lesson to provide the treats of the summer, and washing and cleaning and cooking and working some more.
This moment though, filled with planes and voices and the-silence-that-is-not, this is my moment to savour, like a hot tea on a cold evening, or a decedent chocolate on a warm blanket covered sofa, or arms of love wrapping around me late at night. Just a moment, but mine.
