bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Wednesday 8th July 2020.

I wonder if it will stop raining across the Manchester Basin this week, i wonder if no one has told God that the cotton mills still standing spread across this region are mere homes for ghosts in shawls and cloggs for their are no shuttles and bobbins flying through machines no bare foot children earning their penny a week. For there is no need in the year 2020 for the damp weather needed to stop the cotton from breaking amongst the clattering looms. Should you venture into some of these old mills have the time to stand stare in silence trying to break into history you can hear the whispers of such people whom practically earnt pennies for their living during the birth of the industrail revolution.
I wonder if the mother has any regrets about shouting at her young daughter because she could not keep the pace with her whilst out pounding the pavements in the art of keep fit. I know these are strange times, everyone is hanging on a wire in some form but there must be some buts and if's...will that child remember that outburst forever.
I wonder how the lady feels whilst stood outside a house at a set of traffic lights this lunch time talking through a jar of an open front door in Stalybridge when suddenly a witches scream scorched an echo of sound which seamed as if it was on a set of Macbeth with the three witches, such was the tone of voice coming from behind the door, silence, then as if the door was being head butted so loud i thought the door was going to burst into fragments, followed by more screams...The lady looked around..the traffic lights changed i drove on in my tiny red van quite shocked at the vitriol, scary was the feeling, up on Matley Lane i pulled over plugging in my i-pod fishing for some music to bring some sanity back in my day... i settled for Woodstock...No two days are ever the same driving a tiny red post office van some days are full of sadness, others thank goodness make one smile sometimes it only takes a split second to filp from one to the other, a child in pink wellies jumping in Puddles can be enough to restore ones faith in life, after the sorrowfull sound of a possible  screaming witch. I expect today will stay with me for a long time and each time i slip through those traffic lights i will only remember that voice.
To all whom pass this way love and Goeth...X

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