Moment in Time

The world stopped momentarily, or so it had seemed , the dirty dishes at her feet from the tea she had just finished remained ordinary and steady like everything in the small indistinct room , that was even average in it’s devations from even the most ultimately average of rooms.The only thing different about the room from other ordinary rooms she knew was because at this moment she was situated in this particular room .Not that she would suppose that she was anything other than average but that because of the single link of …" This is the room I am standing in " made the surroundings different in a sense , to any other surroundings that she could imagine, for at this precise moment in time ,this was the only one being directly percieved.

With it’s gentle sway and flutter of rose bushes with delicate petals outside the window that grazed the outer walls of sandy stone warmed with the last strength of the sun in the evening and the whirr in the kitchen of the washing machine on 2000 mega-cycles or whatever.
The quiet still cool peacefulness , that permeates throughout a house that, all day has sat with the heat of the summer sun basting it’s outerwalls and poking thin shafts of pure sunshine in parallel lines through windows , illuminating the usually obscure patterns of lazy dust particles.
The children in the street shriek at their loudest, knowing that soon they would be called to go from the freedom of the street into poky rooms stuffy with the coolness that has permeated every house in the street, which for some was restful but which to others caused only restlessness to be like the children, a reason to have no reason to be warming bodies and souls in the lazy air currents and to directly experience the playfulness of the skipping light breezes of another summer day.

Not for her the envy of the shrieking delight of the children playing in the street, but she was as restless now as they would be once they were called in and were put to bed in the light of the summer evening.
She had looked up from the book she had been reading and had felt the world around her, now the moment was gone and the shrieking just children. The machine had conclusively , clicked to a stop, the tangled jumble waiting to be untangled and hung to dry .
The programme she wanted to see was due on in ten minutes. There would be just enough time to hang the washing and pour a cool drink and shut the curtains against the light of the fast fading day, so that the light would not spoil the picture on the already disadvantaged screen of the old style television.
The washing duly hung, the curtains drawn and cool drink in hand, she sat down in front of the poor quality picture that was “not bad” to her accustomed eyes. The programme was starting and as the presenter began to speak, in her half darkened room , cool and peaceful walls, she slipped the lightweight sandals from her feet and her toes sought out the warnmth in the fibre of the carpet softened by the early evening sun, as once again the world would stop momentarily in a way that to her was equally important, if not more important ,than the ordinary steadiness of the surroundings that her soul had revelled in minutes before except there was no comparison, for she hadn’t really noticed the first and it was gone and already forgotten.
Indeed if we stop a moment to ask her a week from now , she will remember that she saw a good programme on the telly.
Inbetween , forgotten ,lying redundant will be a million second stops of ordinaryness, gone forever.

Moment in Time


Joined December 2007

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