bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Sunday 15th November 2015.

What do you think..??...Winnie-the-Poo...whispered why is only a few hours to early..what is that compared to the 525,600 hours you will have walked the the time you strike 60...
Your old friend King Canute will just whisper back with a smile and be glad to see you in his patch,...after all your flying back to blighty on Friday many birthdays have you thought about such a treat....far to bugger off and leave me to my honey...
Thursday morning 6am Barcelona still half asleep only the street cleaners clad in high-viz only the laidies of the night clung to the walls their short skirts must be chilled from the night air i turned for the beach one lady skipped over with a big beaming close i could make out the goose bumps on her skin i waved her did not stop her..where are you the beach...Ok...and she turned back...madman she probably thought...a few yards on...i wished i was but 18....i glanced at my watch..should be on the beach for sunrise....calling in a 24 hour shop i plucked out a bottle of Coke-Cola...thoughts of my father drifted..on the saying coke can clean rusty nails and make them sparkle as if new...a tall  strapping man as dark as the night broke my thoughts he had his head in a gizmo others were crowded around watching his fingers work..yummy i thought what if...and drifted out and up to the beach....
I have always had this mad thought of standing naked on the beach at sunrise on my birthday if only for a few moments completely alone as if i was the only one on the planet....some things picked up during school days never leave..reading about King Canute..has never left me...maybe him sat there trying to turn the tide was a magical ink spot that burned for me...whilst sat in the class room..dreaming of far off shores instead of looking at pictures on pages that gave no feelings... i do not think for one moment he was on the beach naked nor perhaps on his birthday but hey-ho life is...
I was not alone on the beach...the sun did not poke its head up until at least the time i left the beach i had seen both sorrow and wonder....i did walk along the bay as close to the surf as possible watched my footprints be left for the incoming tide...the tide so low i picked small stones to take home....i came across an open guitar case....out on the break water in the dim light i could just make out the shadow of a man with his back to me on the whispered breeze one or two notes caught my ears..... as he gently played for whom i wondered and left what was still left of the night to him to myself it seemed such a magic the darkness began to drift into shades of grey youths paddling surf boards slipped over the horizon, a small boat the size of a trawler throbbed by, a single red light spoke in the rise and fall of the it's engine gave that comfortable throb that something in the world is as the time i reached the chained up tables and chairs belonging to the outside cafes dotted along the beach, i rested rubbed the wet sand of my pebbles watched an oldman wake from his sleep in a wheel chair he staggered upright rested against a sign and urinated......within moments a man well into his years strode down to the waters edge removed his clothes leaving a tiny brief blue costume his body well kept and plunged into the sea with not a shiver or care and swam...the whole of life was on that beach that morning a book of contrasts each page a story to tell if one could read the words...i rose turned began to hum...Galleries of Pink Galahs sung by the Aussie John Williamson and headed back to the City....Glad i made the effort and not to sorry the sun did not rise for me...I had witnessed enough...So Goeth...
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