Is it peculiar…?
How the most unlikely places bring into ones senses: emotions which seemingly, have not been felt before?
In the sky bowling upwards, holding the stars and planets together, there can be found a reassurance, that one has by destiny, chance or choice, ventured.
A pace of life watching over the land, notices in the stillness: a voice protecting and even projecting, both happy and sad times. It may even tell of times when souls, wished for change, excitement, to fall upon the winds of time!
‘Ambience’ is such an easy word to use, when noticing the atmosphere and surroundings of a place…
Is it the architecture, which projects the designer’s influence of thought? - capturing the imagination, of a wandering eye?
When a place is not entertaining people, it gives no clue how to judge it.
An empty place can be as welcoming or as unfriendly, as it is when busy!
In a small village, less than half mile from the South East England seashore, a young lady named Truly, was standing in her kitchen, on a Saturday evening.
She had just finished washing the dishes, and was gazing out through the window, at a dull blustery sky.
It was late December, so the nights pulled in earlier, than the rest of the year.
Looking out over the view to which she was so familiar, Truly wondered why, less than one year previous, her music by now would be inching up in volume, and her phone would be ringing, with voices of excited friends, eager to begin the evening.
Such a night would have typically begun, with drinks in at her classy and entertaining London home. Whilst deciding whether it may be time, to blend with the city nightlife.
Reminiscing those parties and good nights in confused her: two conflicting lifestyles, in the space of one year.
This mental conflict grated on her.
She loved those party days with friends. But she had felt compelled to move here. Dank and dreary; ‘here’ is like a retirement town.
Her stomach turned over; this feeling was depressing – hopelessly isolated, as if she were sinking. Many times she would struggle to make sense of herself, wanting to settle into this small village.
But most times she came to the same point: it made no sense!
For her to move to a village, housing less than one hundred and twenty people, it was for the most part obvious: she had loved the idea of having her own place, in a quiet well mannered community.
The downside turned out to be that for some reason (possibly that point people reach in life) her group of friends had filtered down. It was now unlikely that she would see all, but her comfortably single, down to earth friends.
They could be too far down to earth, sometimes.
A level headed or hearty debate, she had never shied away from. But to explore and openly explain such inner reflections all the time, was draining to her!
These were very good friends however; no other word less than cherished, could fit them, in her eyes.
‘Damn!’ she thought to herself again.
She realized she was drifting off once more.
O.K.! So why can’t she move back out to the City? Everybody she knew was sad to see her go. She was so happy there and has the finances to just up and leave too.
This is the question that makes her confused.
Quite often she tries to mix with locals, inviting them around for a night in, and likewise. She has been into the pubs.
But always seems to be left with the same feeling. It’s as if she is walking against the wind. The sensation she is stuck - like a metal pin to a magnet. Like she can go no further, but her spirit will always thrive, in a natural desire to grow, with good times.
This is the usual cycle of dismal thoughts, too much of late. Something must change!
Looking out from the view of her kitchen window, Truly wondered that maybe it IS, just her liking of the peace here. If it wasn't for what she feels was lost to her, in friendships and social life, then surely living with the refreshing smell of the sea air, and all that openness around... it is a good lifestyle?
‘All this turmoil for something so easily changed!’ she thought.
Rationing the mundane feelings into words seems to help.
‘Yes!’ she whispered in exhale, ‘I’m officially lonely!’
But “Change!” that word struck a chord, which rang a note of inspiration throughout her.
‘Surely there are chances of that in anything?’ she muttered quietly.
A good and close friend of hers named Conner, always spoke of change, just as if it were a separate element, that rides upon the wind.
‘Maybe I SHOULD think more positive,’ she thought in a sudden streak of concentration, ‘Conner’s an inspirational man - Pretty grounded and in touch with his life too!’
This idea of change was such a regular thought for her.
But this time, it seemed to make something jump inside her, enthusiasm!
She picked up her wine glass from the breadboard, and rinsed it under the tap, without even looking.
Red wine was all too often close at hand of late.
Taking a sip of her fresh deep wine, a feeling of joy awoke in her. For the first time in a long while, she felt there was an idea, wanting her to breathe life into it. And lead her somewhere that was right, somewhere that was once again… positive!
With little idea of what these ideas even signaled, she thought of what Conner always said: “change riding on the wind…”
Young Truly felt comforted by someone she couldn't put a face, or time to.
Her eyes glazed magically, following a light, shining through the window. It was only an orange light from the streetlamp. But her attention was not towards that. It was drawn to a large tree opposite, taking the force of the wind outside.
‘The change on the wind!’ she thought, hoping to see something from the real wind, to encourage her more.
There was nothing apparent. The tree just looked satisfied to be there - it was like she could touch it! Even through the pane of glass in front of her.
Even from the distance of the tree, perhaps thirty feet away…
Truly’s house, was third in on the right, from entering the village. Around forty yards down, was a fading blue sign - ‘Welcome to WaykeShore-on-Sea:’
In comparison to some of the buildings and structures, most residents of WaykeShore village, were pretty recent. It was a small community - very small.
Twenty five years, were the oldest residents she had met! Some of the cottages one noticed in passing, had to be over a century old, probably older.
Architecture and similar subjects of construction, were details Truly held little regard, or enthusiasm towards.
The house she lived in was old, appearing so, both inside and out.
The evidence of age concludes in a number of factors, such as the smell of damp in the dining room, and upstairs bathroom. Many of the kitchen tiles were loose, some broken. The list was mainly cosmetic. And so with a lot of effort, she could have a charming home.
But as soon as she rolled her sleeves up to begin, she felt despondent – it was a shit hole; let alone the roomy loft, which accommodated thick spider webs, and God knows what else!
‘Fuck it!’ she would think, and bury herself in paperwork.
The garden was just as bad – a tip: Cigarette ends and cardboard boxes from her move. She had used a neighbour’s electric strimmer, to cut the grass back in the summer. But having been under great pressure from work, she had taken to drinking wine first: careless behaviour; she cut the head off a grass snake.
Since then, squeamish, she was afraid to go back out, in case the headless body still lay. Truly turned a blind eye to reminders like this!
It is a great ability to absorb oneself in practical matters. Separating work and home life is great too! But she was drinking more than ever, and this is a major reason she barely knows the layout of her own home!
It felt much more a house, than a home.
In her view a house was a building, needing to be recognised by the person who lived there: merging with the interiors; decorating the walls, with preferred choices of paint. Or small touches, like hanging pictures, which for the occupant, brought out passion and warmth - a feeling of still, depending on the room.
Along with the process of the preparation and decorating, comes those blissful moments, of having a nice relaxing bath, before cooking a meal in the evening - just feeling satisfied to sit back enjoying a glass of wine, in front of the television.
That to her, was the joy of being in her own home.
It was a nice house and she could still see why she was initially attracted to move here. But the predominant feeling that arose within her, from every room she entered, was a cold and unwelcoming one.
It was a sense which she often closed her mind to. Somewhere in the silence, was an unwelcoming noise.
Very often it felt as if the house were sulking!
The word she chose to close out, was the word ‘Ghost!’
Adjacent to Truly’s house, were a row of four houses, and a small bungalow. The scene she looked out to behind those homes, was a row of Elm trees, which lined out about fifty yards. Beyond them was a road, one would cross to the sea wall.
The beach itself, lay like a smile to the open sea. It wasn't possible to see the Sea from her downstairs window, but no problem from the upstairs.
It was a beautiful site to look at during the daytime, calm inspirations.
Everything it represented with such enormous power.
All the waves, the ripples, the yachts, which roamed in, were delivered with a manner of patience, by the tides.
So, so calming, that one could lose their sense of direction, in more ways than just travelling! Very easy to underestimate!
And yet… a strange lure seems to offer temptation to do exactly that: underestimate! Like there is something the tide wishes to explain, and this time, it is impatient!
‘Never smile at a Crocodile...’ The words her Grandfather used to say to her, rolled off her lips, without conscious thought.
She thought of the time the sea had come onto the land here.
‘I wonder if that's what happened last time?’ she thought, as the Crocodile saying passed in her mind.
Those thoughts stayed as thoughts, and sank straight to her stomach!