“Chocolate in the Rain”

But thankfully, I’m reminded of more…

There was nowhere to sit, but I sat anyway. I’d been told of the beauty that surrounded me and indeed it was full of wonder (wonderful), all be it xxing wet and cold and raw as rope.
My feet inside my boots were sodden, I could feel my toes squelching as I stood in a stream, the whole hillside was in effect a stream, the weather seemed to be coming from the ground as well as the sky, I had to just let it happen.
The clouds had come in and the only reason l had any hope was I knew where I was heading – North East, and my compass told me that NE was towards the pile of rocks just in view through the foggy rain 50 yards ahead. I ate chocolate in the rain. Salty rain.
That’s how I remember it. A wonderful saturating experience. Saturating in that the cold, the purple, grey and green, the rock, wind and stream, and me and my thoughts were all that there was.

‘‘Railway Station”
The man on the table next to me reminded me of this, he was alone, as far as I could see, he was cherishing his slice of ginger-cake and his mug of coffee (‘Caribbean Extra Smooth’ £1.05 to take away) was coming to a satisfying end. The commuters sat between a day’s work and home. At work today we learnt how Ian had passed away. He was a good chap, down to earth, always had a word to say in passing. His lad is about to start college and his wife has just started a new job at the hospital. We’ll never see him again. His aura was somehow in the ginger-cake man and it made me smile. The rain outside melting down the steamy window was making my chocolate seem extravagantly tasty.

“Chocolate in the rain”
Lofty hills and misty mountains, frosty veins of rains sooth the mighty old mountains as they sit like old dogs front the hearth, old books sleeping on the shelf as they proudly circus their spines, like God with arms folded and eyes deep with lore. The mountains let me pass through, wind and rain do their best to keep me back and get me down, I’m not turning back. If may be miles ahead but that’s where I’m going. The old guardians let me through and so will you. Not stopping for tyrants, not stopping for lies, not stopping for thieves with money, not stopping for an ugly view, not stopping for badly brewed pleasures, not stopping for insignificant treasures… a cup o’ tea waits for me and a pint of Black Sheep to send me to sleep. Through lofts of mist, past mighty excess, through mists of envy and doubt, past lofty statues to a glorious myth, illuminating the pathway where people sleep through mighty mountains, just a break for chocolate in the rain.

All the discomfort: The lights, the voices, the people and places, children and push chairs and phones and clones all to easily lost in the blur of the day, blinded by the fog. Easy to lose sight of the colours that can be bright and the view that’s clear. Even when the sun seems to shine, it’s easy going, still wonderful yet there’s not much to say about it except thankfully I’m reminded of more or less. I think…

That’s how I remember it anyway.

© Jules Richards – 1999