Thursday, February 17, 2005

Under The Swing

Dry, silky earth, fine, full of sand. Light in colour, trickles through small grubby four year old fingers. Good for making tracks with toy cars, you can smooth over the new roads when the surface is busy and start all over again.

Under the swing where scuffing feet had pulverised the ground and removed the grass, I sang as I drew in the dirt with the wheels of my favourite, the three-wheeled bubblecar. It was my favourite because it made three lines in the dust instead of two, and it was red. I always moved it in reverse, engine forwards, because this was the age of streamlining. Rockets and submarines and cars and speedboats and space vehicles that had to move through the atmosphere all obeyed this principle, so Messerschmitt surely put the sharp end first?

Laying propped up on an elbow, head on one side to better observe the car's progress, I maintained a steady oral drone which developed into music and back to my version of industrial noise. I found I could make a good sound by singing through my front teeth, which when kept close together, would buzz. This dental vibration also had the effect of making my head feel pretty strange, and more so after an hour or so in the sun.

In the long afternoons, under the swing, I was totally and utterly happy. I was doing the two things that I have been doing ever since in one way or another, singing and drawing. I didn't know about Native Americans, how they sang themselves into trance and made elaborate geometric shapes representing their cosmology in sand. I didn't know about synaesthesia, Kandinsky or the Theosophists. I didn't know about Rolf Harris. I didn't know what time it was or how long I had been there. I didn't want anyone or anything else, I was satisfied. I didn't want anything more than to stay under the swing for the rest of the day, and the next day, if the weather was fine, to come back.

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2 Comments:

At 10:24 AM, Blogger RuKsaK quoth...

What a gorgeous, humourous piece of writing. Best thing I've read on a blog in ages.

 
At 1:32 AM, Blogger transience quoth...

this was so sweet. and lyrical. and provocative. i think i'm returning to innocence again...

and i love kandinsky. funny you mentioned it on there.

 

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