This is my place. Out here I'm free to think, pray, unwind, shout into the wind and watch the day fade out. I can breathe slower, hear my heart beating and listen to the rustling leaves. I can remind myself of all the things that I've achieved and all the things that have brought me joy. I can sing softly on the breeze and thank God that I'm alive.
A pile of boxes fell on my head today.
I was playing the piano when I stopped to hear a faint creaking sound. It was like the timbers of an old ship, coming from somewhere deep within the pile of cardboard boxes I keep in my spare room.
I was quizzical for about two seconds. Then the whole thing collapsed and rained down on me. Egg boxes, the box for the slow cooker, pizza boxes I was hoping to use as soundproofing, a load of those polystyrene S-shaped bean things and the manual for assembling the sofa bed formed a sort of cardboard avalanche and toppled with a crash, onto me, the chair and a couple of the low notes on the piano.
I sat there for a moment in shock. Then I realised I probably only have myself to blame.
The clouds change quickly. The orange is fading and the blue is turning purple. It's really quite beautiful.
"Excuse me," said a dark figure just now, "You don't mind me playing guitar do you? I mean it won't disturb you?"
"Not at all," I said. He's now sitting on the next bench strumming away. He's a young guy I think, looks a bit like Hugh Grant - blue jeans, floppy hair and a sports jacket. I think he might be writing a song for a girl and he's come out here for a little sunset inspiration.
I don't blame him.
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