Sunday's Whirligig
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I sit here often. For at the cliff’s jagged edge I can think, imagine and create, whilst wrapped in mellow music. No tourists yet, not ‘til summer so I cherish these moments of positive loneliness.
There’s a scarf snared in a bush over there, blowing in the breeze. Do you see it? Blue. I wonder whose it was. And look there, a bunch flowers tied to a little wooden cross. There’s a label. There are just two words on it.
‘John. Why?’ it says.
They are plastic flowers, so at least they will live on. No longer John, though.
And next to them there’s a dog lead and a little sparkley pink collar pinned to grass. There’s a silver disc attached. Let’s see. Poppy it says. Poppy probably broke free and chased a seagull. Dogs do that up here. I guess the gull flew up whilst poor Poppy flew down. Mistake Poppy.
Six hundred feet below, the rocky beach is peppered with broken dreams and littered with painful memories. But up here everything is perfect; for me at least.
Though not for Poppy; not for John.
The given words at this week’s Sunday’s Whirligig are broken, create, pepper, plank, revenge, music, longer, mistake, cliff, loneliness, everything, and snare of which I used ten.
And next to them there’s a dog lead and a little sparkley pink collar pinned to grass. There’s a silver disc attached. Let’s see. Poppy it says. Poppy probably broke free and chased a seagull. Dogs do that up here. I guess the gull flew up whilst poor Poppy flew down. Mistake Poppy.
Six hundred feet below, the rocky beach is peppered with broken dreams and littered with painful memories. But up here everything is perfect; for me at least.
Though not for Poppy; not for John.
The given words at this week’s Sunday’s Whirligig are broken, create, pepper, plank, revenge, music, longer, mistake, cliff, loneliness, everything, and snare of which I used ten.
Hi Keith - one does wonder sometimes ... but the black dog of depression fogs over, and realisation that life can be helped doesn't seem to sink into the furred brain - poor dog though - sweet dreams ... well done - seeing I can see Beachy Head from here ... take care - Hilary
ReplyDeleteBeachy Head. Such a bitter-sweet place. Thanks Hilary
DeleteLess is more - i am glad there is still a choice when we reach the edge
ReplyDeleteLiving near by, I spend a lot of time walking along Beachy Head, and too often I see the resident chaplains talking to people at the cliff's edge. One even approached me once. I obviously had a sad look on my face!
DeleteYou take a list of words and weave wonder-filled stories!
ReplyDelete..and you say the nicest things MMT! Thank you so much.
DeleteOh the things that cliff has heard and seen. . .
ReplyDeleteGreat story.
It's based on an actual place close to my home Pat. Thanks for dropping by.
DeleteI suppose those few seconds of flying could be quite exhilarating; pity there is no one to hear about it afterwards.
ReplyDeleteWell, that's one way of looking at it OE!
DeleteI loved how you took a specific place and turned it into a starting point for life stories as told by what was left behind, and what lies below. It reminds me of how I feel when I see wooden crosses planted by the roadway with plastic flowers tied to them. Someone met an untimely demise there, a life story ending in a critical error on someone's part. Sobering.
ReplyDeleteI spend a lot of time wandering across Beachy Head which is the UK's most notorious suicide spot as well as being a most beautiful place. It is both sobering and uplifting. Thanks J
DeleteWow. Amazing ficlet. I got a lot out of the comments as well. How bizarre that must have been to have someone think you might be suicidal. And I still envy you for living there. ~grin~ All I have nearby is a dirty river.
ReplyDelete