Magic in November
There - among the yellow-green of the leaves, he levitates.
Five floors up in open air: right and left he strolls, roaming at will through London trees. This way and that, fearless and free - wrapped up, in a dance with the breeze.
A miracle sight, this one floating human!
But through the window, take a closer look. There's the metal bones of the scaffold. There the slate, hammer, work; the nails by the fistful. How we should like to be creatures made of wonder - not digging in for rain, for winter.
Five floors up in open air: right and left he strolls, roaming at will through London trees. This way and that, fearless and free - wrapped up, in a dance with the breeze.
A miracle sight, this one floating human!
But through the window, take a closer look. There's the metal bones of the scaffold. There the slate, hammer, work; the nails by the fistful. How we should like to be creatures made of wonder - not digging in for rain, for winter.
posted by Tom Chivers at 12:58 AM
17 Comments:
if i had a floating human peeping through the bedroom windows of my former apartment (third floor), i would've screamed my jammies off.
where have you been?
children are creatures made of wonder.
Birds are pretty wonderful.
Walking home once, in Blackheath, a flock of bright green parakeets flew overhead. This reaffirmed my faith in magic.
Then, more recently, a man turned up at the table where I was drinking and performed some mind boggling magic tricks. For no particular reason, other than to puzzle. This kind of thing needs to happen more often.
Ode to a roofer!
Magic is when every light turns green as you cross. When you hope that the cars might have notice just how fucking magic you could be if you tried.
Children are unsightly little twerps made of processed cheese and phosphoric acid.
I agree, I'm dead-on.
Also: birds are pretty good but ducks are infinitely more wonderful.
i wish i was him.
{i} - it was a curious illusion. The roofer was of course behind the trees, doing up someone else's place - but when he was put up the scaffolding, he looked like this amazing, mystical levitating builder. Anyhow - either way - not a peeping tom!
* Kunstemæcker * - whilst dreamy adults substitute confusion, maybe? But I take your point.
* kieran * - the man was indeed reminiscent of a bird, and they are indeed worthy of a state of wonder. I know a guy who used to be a child's magician - he's a cynical, sharp so and so underneath though. But he can levitate.
* mad * - yep! Keatsian, one might say?
* boudica * - come come. You have to take them individually, surely.
* pl * - ducks can be awesome. I lived by a canal which had lots of them once. At night they'd all sit sleeping in a row - whilst one stood sentry. Then if anyone got to close, the sentry would make a noise, they'd all awake and slide silently off on the water.
* ie * - there's a shortage of manual labourers in London. Could be a career chance?!
I used to live by a lake. There were ducks and geese. No unicorns though.
And let me tell you this:
The ducks were foul. Foul waterfowl. The drakes pursued the females in packs, pecking at the back of their heads until their skulls were cracked. They were not interested in mating, just murder. The strange enclosed ecosystem they inhabited had unhinged their minds. Their calls sounding like murderous laughter, late at night. Now when I see them gather as some child tosses them bread I think "murderers." Such barbarity, such pointless violence. Bees are magical, because they defy physics, and they do not hunt their women.
What's wrong with hunting women now?
As if killing foxes wasn't enough, I don't like their red coats and little hats and their snooty accents.
illusion confusion
Magnetic opening
you've been gone a while.
I have a good excuse - I've been moving house these past two weeks!
We've almost unpacked and done everything. (Just the kitchen and lounge to go . . . )
Back in circulation shortly, sweety.
that's a really beautiful piece. you're really tapped in quite nicely to your source.
p.s. thanks for visiting and commenting on my blogs ... those long lost days ago.
insert poem where? come back inimitable antonym.
Thanks Indigo - I will reinsert myself into the blogoshere shortly I hope, assuming that bastard Time allows it...
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