This post goes out live. It is 22:29 on December 26th, 2020. I crouch in the woods, and after I clock send, this is goodbye. I am gone by the time you read this.
My sincere apologies for any spelling mistakes. Correction time is over.
A sinkhole appeared in Clifton yesterday. Was this the landscape reacting to my plan? Knowing someone was about to depart?
Looking back at the old blogs this afternoon, I worried that we have not touched Clifton. The lion statues hiding in Goldney halls. The curve of Royal York Crescent. A stone needle pointing to the sky. All unmentioned. We have unlocked so much and yet so many corners remain unexplored.
The sun went down. On went my tweed suit, and the bowler hat. The felt mouse grinned from my breast pocket. Two remaining juggling balls sat tucked away within the lining.
I drew the nose on first. Then the whiskers. Both kissed my skin with the cold slap of face paint.
The door of my flat closed with a click. I am glad I bothered to tidy. Not fair to make my landlord organise hoovering.
Every step in the dark on the way to the Observatory was an act of worship, accompanied by a chorus. Figures tipped their hats from the shadows. Something with tusks ran through a lamppost. Flute music joined the sound of shouting and fireworks. I know every lichen covered wall, every decaying Georgian urn a friend. Drizzle kept me refreshed, and Christmas light still danced in the windows, landing lights guiding me towards my destination.
I walked the muddy path to the Observatory, and sat on damp grass. Took a final look at the glitter of the Suspension Bridge, a giant arrow towards the way ahead. Thought about thin branches of the trees in Leigh woods, the borderline of the city, ancient trees sprouting long before the building.
Freezing grass changed to the warm, soft grasp of a ginormous palm. I closed my eyes, and tried not to think about the drop to the river below. We moved, but did not move, and this was a goodbye, the holiday city you will never visit again vanishing beneath the clouds.
The air changed to a smell of damp leaves, and a lighthouse glow forced my eyes open. A battered juggling ball lay in the mud near my trainers. The delicate petals of the Bristol Whitebeam cover the floor. The forest surrounds, with no obvious route out. Not that I was looking for a way out. The way forward was clear
A diamond shape opening hovered in line with the tree trunks, shining with a rainbow outline. The innards are fuzzy, but the silhouette of a man in a suit and bowler hat stands within. His identity is clear. The joker in the pack.
I have watched him for about an hour. About thirty minutes ago he began to throw dark shapes in the air. My juggling balls rain in synch soon after. Thank goodness for the practice..
This photo below is my last card. The deck is complete. Time to go.
If you choose to take on this creative exercise, I hope it goes well. I hope you discover similar a similar path, and are happy with what you have created, and where your creations will lead you. I hope a dinosaur watches from the shadows. I hope the Butter Mouse continues.
Good Luck.
