We’ve had a lot of sunshine recently. It’s been wonderful – I’ve been making the most of it and sitting in the garden as much as I can. Sometimes, when I have documents to read on my laptop, it’s not really ideal but I’d rather squint at a screen with the sun on my back and grass between my toes than stay indoors. I love writing outside too – I feel surrounded by inspiration, like it could drift in on the breeze, burrow its way out of the ground or clamber in over a nearby fence to surprise me.
But then a few days ago we had a sudden torrential downpour. Dark clouds raced across the sky trampling out all the blue and, in moments, down came the rain. Huge hammering pellets, blistering their way across pavements and hurling themselves into thirsty soil. It reminded me how much I love it: Proper rain. Not that kind of endless drizzle that seems to settle itself here in autumn for weeks on end, but the real stuff. The type that comes along and forcefully washes the air clean before going on its way leaving only that gorgeous fresh, earthy sort of smell behind.
As well, of course, as puddles. And who doesn’t like jumping in them?!
All of which is is a roundabout way of saying: “I wrote a haiku about puddle-jumping”.
Pools of fallen sky
collect in holes and hollows
for our joyful feet
Eloped with imagination.
Nothing to see here.
Yes, it’s been that kind of week. The kind where even haikus have the wrong number of syllables. *bashes hands onto keyboard in the hope that fingers will type something creative. They don’t.*
Linking my tiny attempt at creativity with Prose For Thought over at Verily Victoria Vocalises.
I love sleep. Adore it. That beautiful floaty feeling that overtakes you when you’re all snuggled up under the covers and start to drift off… there’s nothing like it.
But that feeling of being dragged from the deepest realms of slumber by a crying baby and knowing you’ve got to clamber out of the warmth and stumble across a cold corridor… that’s not so good.
Unfortunately for me, at the moment there’s rather a lot of the second feeling going on and it’s making me get a bit obsessed with the idea of a full night’s sleep. Oh, the things I could achieve if I could get a solid eight hours! I could build a boat, design a rocket, tame a lion: the world would be my oyster! And I could probably think up something award-winningly inventive to do with that oyster too.
Well, maybe not. But at least my brain would be less squelchy and my legs would be less sludgy.
On the upside though, I have been using these endless wakeful hours to write. Not on paper (too dark, danger of accidentally stabbing baby with pen etc.) but in my head. I’ve written bits of stories and alternative versions of songs and – given my obsession – it probably comes as no surprise to learn that I have written about sleep. In the deepest depths of last night my brain falteringly put together a haiku:
Soft blankets embrace
Warmth envelops leaden limbs
Slip slowly to sleep.
Ah, sleep. Love it.