Good morning, good afternoon and good evening readers,

It’s been a while; it’s been some time,
But don’t you worry, the weather’s just fine.

Last year I stopped posting blogs onto my website for various reasons. My reasons are excuses in capes and fake moustaches
And the ins and outs
and whys and hows
don’t
really
Matter.
No more Excuses.

As my dad rightly said about my History degree, “It’s all in the past”. Ba-dum-dum-tsh!

So, here I am sat on my veranda at the ripe age of twenty-seven ready to fall off another fruit tree and into whatever earthy story is laid out next for me. I’ll write some words just to get the narrator going… be patient please… sometimes she gets a little stuck. I wasn’t sure what to write, what story to tell, so I’m just going to tell you about a day at the beach…

Old Gods in New Gods bodies
An off white and blue wooden tower sat relaxed on the beach bordering the crouching jungle. Its roof blinded by the afternoon sun. The tower stood like a small windowpane keeping clouds captive on a blue-sky day whilst others journeyed on to other foreign adventures. Inside two lifeguards sat relaxed, unsure of why they were doing what they were doing but doing it, nonetheless. A shade nestled in close to them as they watched from their tower. Watching everything and doing nothing. So that everything could carry on doing what it was doing. And when they did intervene – sorry. Morning!
The ocean mostly blue, sometimes brown and occasionally clear was dancing a dance of India. Things. All dancing around one another. Things. Singing with soulful voices. Things Living. Things Breathing. Things. Dying. In the ocean, laughter vibrated through curling tongues and stretched out lips, as tourists from far away cities ignored far away thoughts in faraway waters. Other bathers floated silently by in the liquid silver ocean. The lifeguard’s whistle screeches but they are all too taken by joy to notice. Closer, on the shore, the ocean left its worries on the beach, dumping lost sand in other sand homes. Sand children playing sand games, hoping their sand parents will stop their sandcastles blowing away. “The world is tired, and I am tired with it.” they would softly, softly sing as loose grains sank under their cracked soles; elephant skin on human heels. Old Gods in New Gods’ bodies. In the bordering jungle, secrets hid up coconut trees waiting to fall on the heads of unsuspecting passers-by. Beach walkers each with their own gait; some dancing, some waving, some throwing. In the shade of lounging cafes books huddled like Emperor Penguins seeking warmth from stony eyed readers. Lovesick sitars drew people in with sliding metals. Cows wandered by cafes, homes, toilets peering in, in search of the latest tasty gossip. Colourful garlands drooping around their necks, wilting in the heat. Munching on lit plastic bags mistaking them for tandoor veg skewers. Holy ones. Loved ones. Eating Plastic. A Brahman Kite glides silently on slow thermals looking down on those below, sometimes ignoring them altogether. And the Swimming Gods (never seen swimming) see them all and they all see the Gods. All hoping that the others will learn how to swim.

In kindness,
C x