Do I dare admit that I waited up again, on a totally baseless hope?
(Not baseless in a bitter way, or even a sad way. Just in a kind of silly way. Like waiting at the library all day because someone mentioned they had an overdue book. Did they say when they’d be there, or even that they would go at all? No. But that’s all right. It just so happens, I love libraries.)
Andrew Boy (via loveyourchaos)
Oh, my eternal struggle.
(via bitchesloveequality)
I feel like this has just perfectly described the last 21 years of my life in 6 sentences. Wow.
(via newyorkrain)
Another surprisingly beautiful day today, although a bit stickier than yesterday.
I spent it walking to Princes Street, which was fantastic and fun, and haggling with the people at the bank over whether or not they would deposit a check, which was less than fun.
In case anyone was wondering, I would not, under any circumstances, recommend banking with Santander. It’s a bit of a nightmare.
Also, the exchange rate? Yikes.
I went to the beach today. It was beautiful.
The sun was warm on my back. The sand was soft and cool and dry on my bare feet. I dug my toes down into it, wiggling them past white shell fragments and bits of black volcanic rock.
To the left and right of me, land hugged the firth, but straight ahead, there was only golden sand, sapphire sea, and the sky, hazy with storms in the distance.
I stood, shoes off, at the tide line, and let the waves lap at my feet. The water was frigid, but I enjoyed it. It woke me up, simplified things. For a second, everything boiled down to this- I am alive. The sea is cold.
And that’s it. It was a perfect, beautiful, cold, warm moment.
I doubt there will be another day with weather even half this perfect. But today was enough.
They tell you do not go out after dark, even though the weather is warm and the trees are blooming. You will be led off by a glamour or spell.
They tell you do not step inside the ring of mushrooms growing in the forest. You will be whisked away by the little people, malicious and cunning.
They tell you do not eat the food, the wonderful food, like nothing you have even seen or tasted or imagined before. You will never leave.
You scoff at their old wives tales. The night is just the night.
All of this is absolutely true.
***
“I’ll be home soon, Mom,” Jaimie calls as she flings a jacket over her shoulders and shoves an apple in her pocket.
“And where do you think you’re going, missy?”
“Just for a walk. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
“But it’s getting dark!”
“Mom, I’m fifteen, not five.”
“Well, be careful,” her mother tries to caution her, but Jaimie has already shut the heavy front door behind her. In front of her, the sun is setting, washing the skyline in glorious pinks and oranges. Bustling streets beckon, shop lights spilling out, promising food and company, but it is not towards these that Jaimie turns. She follows her quieter avenue to its end. To the left and right are houses, respectable homes full of no doubt respectable people. The early autumn evening is warm, and the sounds and smells of dinner waft out the open windows.
But straight ahead is another thing altogether. A wall of trees rears up, already dark despite the lingering light. Its multicolored leaves litter the cul-de-sac, and the recent rains have turned them from pleasantly crisp to dangerously slick. It is into this that Jaimie goes. Her feet find the simple path with ease, while her mind wanders. She hums softly under her breath as she walks, an old folk song her dad sings when her baby brother can’t sleep. The forest rustles quietly in the background, but Jaimie, used to its soft sounds, ignores it. Instead, she reflects on the last six months. It seems to her that baby Colin is never sleeping, just crying, wailing, constantly.
The thought of her brother brings a small scowl to her face, and she kicks one of the forest’s many mushrooms in frustration.
“It’s not even that I don’t like him. I just need a break!” Something small skitters past, just out of sight. She sighs and aims her foot at another mushroom, only to find a shiny red apple lying on the ground, surrounded by the abundant whitecaps. She reaches into her pocket to find it empty and, with a small confused sound, picks up the apple. It seems unaffected by its time on the ground. Jaimie has yet to make up her mind about whether she will keep her word about dinner, and takes a large bite of the apple just in case. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rings.
Jaimie does not make it home for dinner.
