Monday, 31 January 2011

Sweet Bird of Youth......

Dreams elude me but thoughts twist and turn, whirling like birds on the wing through my head. It's cold outside but here, under the duvet, I'm snug.  Warm even. I stretch my legs and touch the warm body next to me momentarily. I feel the steady glow of their body-heat which reassures me. I know that if I get cold, if I have to get out of bed for instance, that I can slip back under the duvet and press myself against their heat and wait for it to pour back into my body. At the moment I have no plans to do that so I just relax, chill and enjoy the comfort as I slowly drift off, carried away on this delicious warmth.

Thoughts, like birds, migrate.

I drift away unsure if I'm dreaming or just thinking of my youth, running with the gang or playing rough and tumble in the garden with my brother and sister, my youthful nose sharp and full of smells that come back to me here in the night. I particularly remember the flowers but other things too, like how I used to play sneaking up on the garden birds, trying to be still, slow and quiet so I could get as close as possible before they saw me. I would burst out and watch them scatter with the unforgettable sound of their wings. It was so..... EXCITING. There were lots of birds in my childhood garden. I'll always remember the sound of wings, I'll probably even remember till I die. It's one of those thrilling sounds of childhood isn't it? I always loved that sound. I have great hearing, even now. I learned to tell what kind of bird it was just from the sound of their wings. Years later I can tell the different sound of a sparrow, or a pigeon or a starling by the sounds made as they fly by. I don't even have to look.  I was never much into music when I was young though. It was always around in the house of course but I never paid much attention. I was always listening though.  I could always tell who was coming into the room by the sound of their footsteps. I knew before they arrived. Sometimes my mother would pick me up and I would sit on her lap. Sometimes I would rest back against her and bathe in the smell of her perfume. It was intoxicating to a youngster and I would lie back and rest my head on her chest, listening to her voice rumbling, almost purring through her chest as she spoke to my father or someone else.


I realise that I've still not fallen asleep but have just been reminiscing. Maybe I should get up and have something to drink. And a biscuit. That would be nice. I quite fancy something with a bit of crunch to it actually and I know there are biscuits in the kitchen.  As I squirm over to reach for the side of the bed a toenail catches soft flesh. There's a wince and an immediate sharp intake of breath from across the bed before his voice comes back towards me.


Jings, you need your claws cut!

Ow......that hurt.

Too late.

I'm already halfway down the stairs.

Keep the bed warm buster. I'll be baaaack.

see you later.


Scottish Nature Boy said...

FAB writing Al - drew me right in (*thinking - he's a bit boastful today about his hearing abilities etc*), then... sucker punch! It's Jess! Cheered me up no end, that wee tale! Cheers, SNB

Alistair said...

Glad you enjoyed it SNB. Always happy to put a smile on the workforce. Have a good un.....

Rebecca S. said...

Jess must have known you were thinking about birds...:)

The Sunday Posts 2017/Mince and Tatties.

Mince and Tatties I dinna like hail tatties Pit on my plate o mince For when I tak my denner I eat them baith at yince. Sae mash ...