blog, Pat Aitcheson writes, poetry

sky/light/deep/dark/blue

Creative Cafe Creative Challenge #48.5

man-blue-destruction_intographics
intographics via pixabay

“Depression is being color blind and constantly told how colorful the world is.”
— Atticus, Love Her Wild

 

This is a good day.

Hardly a cloud to mar a sweep of sky blue, warm winds sigh against my skin and tug at my sails. Hardly a shadow, with the sun near its zenith. Up here in the wide above, birds call and all is bright. The sea glitters blue and silver, reflecting sunbeams. Anything is possible. Viewed through the positivity telescope, the horizon beckons.

 

Another day.

Plenty of steel blue sky, but more grey clouds now, not yet weeping fat raindrops. Time to batten the hatches and haul in my sails against gusting winds and imminent storms. Water shivers in the air, cool against skin goosebumped despite my thin coat of hope. The sun hides. It is still there, I think.

 

Days go by.

I crouch in my frail boat, tossed on angry swell, shipping cold uncaring wet. The sky touches the sea and all is grey, colour washed away. Torn clouds shed raindrops to mingle with tears on my chilly face. And when the giant wave finally snatches me into pitiless ocean, I am not surprised. It was always coming.

 

Time passes.

I drift endlessly. No map or compass, no lifebelt. Helpless to fight the long slow slide, sinking deeper into the blue, I lose the last vestiges of light. Down, and down. Eyes blinded, nothing to see. Marble skin, numb to feeling. I could shout at the void, but there will be no reply. The blue darkens still more. It is the black shadow that has chased me every day of my journey.

 

Swallowed in nothingness, I lie resigned on unyielding ocean floor, a certainty of sorts.

Help isn’t coming.


first published in The Creative Cafe on Medium, 8 November 2017

blog

What colour is your balloon?

balloons empty assorted_PublicDomainPictures
PublicDomainPictures via pixabay

 

When I was a girl I wanted a balloon, shiny and blue, bobbing at the end of a string. Other people had them, so why not me?

Someone gave me a box of bright colours and said sure you can, choose one.

I didn’t realise how hard it would be to turn that scrap of latex into a balloon. I huffed and puffed and blew till I almost turned blue. It didn’t work. I was ready to give up.

Someone took pity on me. They showed me another way. I narrowed my focus, took careful aim, and blew.

And blew and blew, and held on tight, so none of that precious breath escaped. And my balloon grew big and round. Carefully I tied the neck tight and added a string.

Here’s my blue balloon. It makes me smile. And it brings challenges.

 

A storm will come, whether tomorrow or another day.

Envious people will come, to persuade you to let go so you will be like them. Malicious people will come, hiding sharp weapons to pierce and destroy.

Anxiety will come, asking whether pink, or yellow, or green aren’t really a better choice.

Devious people will come, coveting your possession.

My answer is no.

No, the wind may not take it. I will wind the string tight in my grasp until the sun returns.

No, I have the right to my balloon and you will not deny me.

No, I will guard my balloon and defend it against attack.

No, I will stand by my choice of balloon. Other colours exist, but this one is mine.

No, I will not give you my balloon by fair means or foul. Go find your own.

 

Maybe your balloon isn’t blue. Maybe it’s not even a balloon. But I say, choose your dream, focus and work hard, hold on tight and defend it from all threats. Starting is hard, but the reward is worth it as long as you just keep going.

It’s the only way to make a dream come true.