bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Sunday 4th January 2015.

The festive crush of ebbs away..this the final sung out by Rod Stewart singing..Sweet lady Mary...his gravel voice climbs the stairs, biting my bare ankles as it climbs up into my ears to distract me from this white screen, i sit here comtemplating the fizz and bips i recall of this bumper festival..the Christmas CD.'S..already bagged to be placed in darkness for another year....One month of playing them on a merry go round makes me glad they hide away for some time....
The young girl crying into her mothers she forgot in her festive happiness tiny red vans can she danced out into the road obilivious her face all jolly her mind full of scrumptious dreams, a far cry from the mothers face of sheer horror..but it passed, my tiny red van paused..shaken but not 007..would perhaps quip....The bleary eyed grandmother whom travelled from Sheffield but could or perhaps did not want to go no further on Christmas eve, perhaps when sat on the train passing through country side that makes one feel good to be alive, the heather on the distant hills perhaps said not to her, perhaps her dreams overflowed spilling out on the rocking train floor i understood her, i have been in such cobwebs before, not every Christmas is great..she caught me as i climbed into my tiny red van, she wanted her card to reach her nephew on the festive eve...but not for him to see her....the christmas stamp on the corner of the white envelope shed a tear is they say a mad house at times..i promised the card would be delivered....Bless You....i smiled..recalling how so many say those two words of her generation..i wonder if this up and coming generation will say it too when hair is so grey and they reach for their walking sticks or perhaps not, lost on the wind and time a possiblity..i did not deliver the card my self but passed it on to the right postman i told him of the ladies request..he looked at me, i stared back sometimes on this working saddle silence is a comfort....
New years Eve....brought a screaming lady out of a house as the postman walked up the path..the son had stabbed the mother to death.....i will perhaps forget what i ate or drank or the weather or even what Santa brought me on Christmas 2014...hopefully the death too...however the two faces of two generations in two moments on two different days will stay with me forever....So Goeth....

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