For The Sunday Muse Prompt #179:

The scent of life and of living
hangs heavy on this place,
Here, where the weight
of memory and first things
lose themselves in the labyrinth
of the mind.

First step, first walk, first smile.
First  words – garbled beyond
recognition but finding
the connection between
the proffered body
and sustenance.

First leaving, first returning
then leaving – the first steps
of a  lonesome journey
to a far country, of seeking
the wily welcome of the open world
calling – siren-like – from beyond
the walls that time has built.

The days have their dangers
and the nights their flights of fancy
but in moments of respite and clarity
I find myself here. Home.
Always returning.

Summer’s end, chicken fajitas and cuts at the BEEB

Only the most deluded of persons would deny that summer is well and truly over. Not only does it feel quite chilly, the trees also think so. Hyde park, which by much squinting I can just see from my 13th floor window at MO Corp, is covered in a layer of browns, reds, golds and the odd green patch crafted by fallen leaves as the trees acknowledge autumn. The sun on the odd occasion it manages to peek from behind the dull clouds seems weak, tired and offers no real warmth. Moments like these are those which fill me with a misplaced sense of nostalgia. Mercifully, I have my fleece with me as I head off to lunch with the team from work.

Lunch is at the Soul bar – and I may have unwittingly broken a personal record – the number of consecutive days I have had the exact same thing for lunch. The new record is five – five consecutive days having chicken fajitas. I have recently, thanks to the benevolence of a friend, acquired a taste for them; and soul bar – situated within the former West Church of St Andrew – delivers wonderful fajitas in an atmosphere of soft lighting, music and candle light! (gasp). The menu cards are humongous, and someone jokes that this is a great place to take a date to as the huge menu cards provide something to hide behind if the date goes awry.

It is a going away lunch for Kev who has completed his tour of duty, and the lunch time talk is slightly reserved – almost strained. Its been a great few weeks together on this project and he will really be missed. Whilst tucking into our food, Kev announces that he thinks our waitress is Canadian. For me all North American accents blur into imperceptibility. He, world traveler par excellence, thinks he can pin her accent to Nova Scotia. I make a mental note to confirm that. Kev and I have our plates well cleaned out when lunch ends – clearly we have no regards for calorie counts. The ladies plates though still have varying amounts of left over food. I remark that it must suck to have to bother about waistlines – such good food going to waste – and I get more than a few complimentary glares! At payment time, Kev asks the waitress and she confirms she’s Canadian. How he does this beats us all the time – he says its just being perceptive, the girls think its yet more proof that he’s psychic.

Speaking of cuts, calorie counting and bulging waist lines, leaked documents suggest that the BBC World Service as we know is in for massive change. Regular drama programming, Proms, and the Wimbledon highlights show are top of the agenda for axing… Sigh.