‘This is lovely. Mmmm’
Lady Socks says ‘Mmmm’ during moments of pleasure.
The sun, your humble correspondent, and Lady Socks met up in the park this afternoon.
‘Really lovely, you wouldn’t think it was October.’
The azure blue sky.
The migrating birds stopping in flight, checking their maps, and deciding not to bother with Africa this year and heading back to sun-kissed England.
The children running and skipping and giggling at the sheer joy of life.
The feeling of oneness with nature, as we lay on the grassy slope, a million miles and a thousand millennia from anything bad.
‘Mmmm, let’s stay here a while.’
It was all too much for my cynicism.
‘Sssh, the gods might be listening and they’ll whip up a storm. Or the God… or whatever.’
I lifted my head from the hillside, as though to seek clarification for my own words. I came face to face with a flower.
‘Hey, since when was I a theist?’ I asked the flower.
A breeze helped the flower shrug its leaves but it gave me no further response. It just kept calling out ‘Look at me, bees, come on, I’m wide open! Just think of all the yummy honey! Screw theology! Calling all bees!’
As a bee heeded the call I lay my head back on the grass and closed my eyes - I knew the world could not have been so great as we had just been deluding ourselves.
Seconds later Lady Socks and I were startled by a crashing of metal, a screaming of surprised boy hurtling through the air like a human cannon-ball, and the whirring of an upturned bicycle’s wheel, spinning as the bike imagined itself still racing downhill and ripping through the finishing line of the world’s most important bike race.
Lady Socks was quickly on the scene tending to the human cannon-ball, who was to be found in a heap some distance further down the slope.
‘Oh crikey, my trousers* are ripped!’ wailed the heap**.
I stood like the village idiot, one stubby arm pointing at the crashed BMX, the other arm waving at the area of flattened grass where Lady Socks and I had been eulogising about the beauty of creation, my head now churning out clumsy calculations about the distances and speed of the bike and the velocity of the boy’s flight.
‘Look! One second later and he’d have crashed right on us!’
‘Get the blooming first aid kit out the car, you chump!’ Lady Socks replied.
‘Yes, I’ll do that. I knew all was well with the world. Yes.’
And to the car I skipped full of the joys of life.
*All our pants are 'trousers', here in Blighty.
** No boys were seriously harmed during the making of this post.