Rivulets of colder climes run down the glass to tickle my fingers. I watch on twisting my arm this way and that as the sunset catches the glass with final bursts of summer. A sip, then I lick my lips. I see nothing beyond the colours running down my throat, taste nothing but memories. This is bliss. Right now. This is bliss.
Just A Feeling
It’s just a feeling, a tingling in the toes. I pull them back and wriggle them around but the tingling remains. Very odd?
I decide to go for a walk marching around the neighbourhood like a demented crow all stiff-legged, feet pointing.
After a mile, I think my strange sensations gone. They haven’t. In a sneaky turn of events, the tingling has travelled up my shins, thighs and settled somewhere else. I wriggle like a bustling chicken. A woman crosses the road.
I walk faster now bordering on a run. If I can just shake it off. I stop dead. I’m turning into Taylor Swift! No, that can’t be right? Sprint.
I hurtle down the main street, turn into the alleyway that runs across the back of our terraces and in through the back gate. I’m knackered. The tingling has gone.
When I say gone, I am in fact lying in the hope it’s my brain carrying out a mentality check because I’m actually tingling all over. Every Richard atom is buzzing like an electrified fence, a hectic rush hour of life.
Life. That’s it. It’s just a feeling. A feeling that it’s good to be alive. I don’t want to run it off, to sprint away into the distance. I want to savour every second and tingle as long as I can.
Yes, it’s just a feeling. But I’m damn glad I’ve got it.
Something about a winter sunrise stirred my soul, coated it in liquid gold, a protective cocoon that only angels enjoyed. Everyone got the summer dawns but not the winter. Timing was everything. Solitude essential. One had to just get up and relish them. And I have. And I will again.
Wherever Kira went, it rained. Not an unusual occurrence one might have claimed. In the context of her deluges, however, it was. No matter where Kira stood, either inside or out, the heaven’s opened and poured. They didn’t pour on her neighbours, nor her little chihuahua, just her.
This strange situation lasted for five years, then as suddenly as it had started, stopped. Like God had turned a tap off, the rain cloud’s that were a permanent feature of Kira’s life just disappeared. No more rain. No more wet beds, sofas, car interiors, gardens or streets.
“What a relief,” said Mrs Chambers from next door.
“Thank goodness for that,” said Alan, Kira’s boss.
“About time,” said their local weatherman relieved his predictions might stick.
Kira smiled at them all, replied that she’d miss it, then at long, long last put down her umbrella.
Floating on our backs downstream smiling.