The Last Weekend of the Month

Time. It certainly stops for nobody.

If I’m not complaining about the weather, I’m complaining about time.

This time it’s time. Time, my time, seems to only have two settings, slow and warp speed. Lately, I’ve had a lot of time to enjoy the first, but within the past week, the latter has somehow crept up and overtook things.

I need to make time to make time slow down again.

I shall have to take myself to one side, and just sit and be. Contemplate life and stuff, allow myself to drift between dimensions, breathe deeply, savour every moment, and align myself with the normal flow of things once again. Drifting between dimensions opens thousands of different portals, trains of thought, and gateways to imaginary realms never before tapped into. Going within really slows things down. Yes, I shall have to go exploring methinks. I’ll write about my findings, obviously!

Running around like a headless chicken is no good for anyone.

Cute Critter Friday: Making Waves

The tufted duck was back today, all by himself, ducking and a diving in the Lake, when all of a sudden he stopped. Completely still in the water… he then flicked a wing… kicked a flipper… and created waves all around him. Then, he dove beneath the water’s surface again, and reappeared far on the other side of the Lake, where once again he stopped. I think he was making waves on both sides… very cute!

Cat and mouse tale

Carefully, Carmichael moved the loose stone away from the wall at the back of the kitchen. Enid stood back, looking on curiously. She held Snowy tightly, who purred in her arms.

“What is it? Where does it go to?” Enid asked, more for something to say than wanting an answer.

“It’s back there!” Carmichael, now on all fours, peered into the hole in the wall. “I think this is a priest hole.”

“I don’t care what it is. That mouse is not living in there… set it free before this one really keeps it captive!”

Snowy, nonchalantly, licked Enid’s chin.

I thought I’d pop on over to see how Enid and Carmichael are doing since they claimed the Old House as their own just before Halloween last year. It was my intention to pop by regularly, but this is the first chance I’ve had to do so up until now. A quick one-hundred worder to show they are still at one with nature, even though they have a house around them now, to keep things ticking along. Click here if you’d like to read our first meeting.

Saturnlight

Basking in Saturnlight, the comet finally reaches the closest point to the ringed planet that it ever will do so. The ice crystals and rocky formations glisten in the reflected sunlight, from a sun almost one-and-a-half billion kilometres away. Saturn itself seems to hang low in the flimsy atmosphere the comet has created for itself on its one-way journey out of the Solar System. Soon, darkness will once again fall upon this desolate and frozen travelling island. Will it encounter another planet within Sol’s system… or simply drift silently and lonely forever forwards? And will anybody ever get to know?

Almost a Full Moon

In a recent post, I droned on about a learner driver who was driving in the dark without a single light being lit.

It got me thinking about all of the other sights that we sometimes have the misfortune to see as we’re merrily driving from A to B.

One sight isn’t only a sight to behold, but could also easily be described as a veritable disaster waiting to happen.

I write, of course, about the cyclist.

They’re an abundant species all unto themselves, cyclists. Oblivious to anything around them, invulnerable, and sometimes ghastly to look at. They come in all shapes and sizes, with one, two, three or four wheels… and sometimes even more.

On occasion, they swarm together and race around in packs, so tightly crammed together they are, that if one took a tumble in the centre, those cyclists surrounding the poor unfortunate one end up being knocked outwards via the domino effect. If seen from up above, this cyclist cascade would resemble the delicate opening of a flower’s petals, only with more noise and considerably more foul language.

I’m not focusing on the swarms though. I’m looking at the lone cyclist.

Red traffic lights have no right to stop the majority of them. Many just bypass them by cycling on the pavement instead.

Traffic hold ups also have no right to stop a cyclist. No, they weave in and out of the slow moving vehicles, not stopping at red traffic lights (as we’ve already seen) and hurtle straight across busy junctions as if an oncoming vehicle will bounce off them. As I mentioned earlier, many lone cyclists are invulnerable.

There’s one particular type of cyclist that is now becoming a regular feature. At one time extremely rare, they can now be seen all the more frequently. And some can be seen more than others.

Obviously, they need to be seen so that any oncoming vehicles won’t deflect off them, but some are taking this a little too far.

As in nature, bright colours always indicate some kind of warning. ‘Keep away from me, I’m poisonous!’ they scream in their fluorescent green spots. Insects, that is, not cyclists. Cyclists’ fluorescent green indicates ‘Look at me, I’m here!’ as in ‘I want to stand out so you will see me’, not ‘I look fabulous in this fluorescent green, don’t I?’!

But then, there’s them.

Them.

The nightmare cyclists.

Those who choose the lycra one size too small. Yes, lycra’s stretchy material, but this particular type of cyclist seems to go for the cut-off circulation look. Purple arms with bulging veins poking out of fluorescent green sleeves is not a good look in anybody’s money.

Cyclist-watchers are keen to point out that this is the reason why this particular breed of cyclist goes for this look, as they intend for themselves to shrink into the lycra, but honestly: saggy lycra is no good for anyone.

Being behind one of these cyclists is, well, I wouldn’t say joy to behold, but an experience in itself. As they cycle, rhythmically wobbling from side to side, lycra molecules expanded to a hair’s breadth of visibility, one only hopes that there isn’t a mini cataclysmic explosion within one of said molecules that ruptures the space-time continuum causing the tightly packed cyclist to come flooding out of the poor unfortunate wrapping.

Maybe that’s taking things a little too far, but if a cyclist can go through a red light, then surely, anything can happen.  

Next time you see a lycra-clad cyclist, try not to think of a mini cataclysmic explosion, as they tend to get tetchy around people who laugh. And anything that’s tetchy is unpredictable. And there’s nothing worse than an unpredictable cyclist.

We at Beyond the Sphere hope that you haven’t been affected by any of the issues highlighted in this blog post.