picosgemeos: (Default)

We took a 2-day long helmsman course last week and we are now certified sailors, we can even sail commercial boats. We move into our narrowboat mid-October and plan on living in it for at least a year.

I’ve also given myself that nautical year to finish the first draft of my novel (not coincidentally, set in a boat.) And I plan on submitting one piece of writing for publication each month (can be flash fiction, short story, book review, and so on.)

In October, will you join me in Save Livejournal Month? Autumn is here – let’s all turn inwards.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Young and old.#victoriapark #fall #autumn #london

He wakes up to the smell of coffee and the sound of his boyfriend in the kitchen frying pancakes and bacon. After they are done with breakfast, he looks outside and thinks: “it’s a writing day.”

He types handwritten notes for a few hours then showers. As a reward, he gives himself a walk through Victoria Park.

He stops to eat a bagel on a bench facing the pond. Each tree warmed by autumnal light begs to be photographed. A passing old man watches a young couple kissing in a rowboat.

One day, he realises, he will only have memories.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Thank you Universe for another day on Planet Earth. 😍#victoriapark #mist #run #morningrun #london #sunrise #eastlondon #autumn #fall

He drags himself to the park despite the dark and the cold, despite the growing itch in his throat. He’s going to run, goddammit, even if it means extra doses of flu medicine later on.

A thin white mist hangs over the grass; sunlight slowly breaks through the leaves. His fingers are frozen around his flat’s keys, but the music is upbeat and his feet won’t stop.

As the sun rises, cyclists and joggers stop to take pictures. He finishes his run with a stretch, red leaves all around him. The mist is now like a cloud dissipating under light.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
A bit of silence and contemplation after work. #victoriapark #london #autumn #fall

Springtime, he brings up the bucket inside the well. He looks inside, sifts through what he can find. He’s alive again, ready to work.

Summertime, he falls in love with life. It’s beautiful outside, there’s too much to do. He sets his writings aside.

Then autumn arrives. The shortening of days, the falling leaves – his pen and papers call to him. So many adventures to record, stories to tell.

But autumn doesn’t last long. Suddenly, he’s mired in bleak winter. Nothing better to do then but sit by the fire with a pile of books and wait for spring again.

The Seasons

Dec. 1st, 2015 07:08 am
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Underground Angst, No.1

Spring is when we are young – very young. We are learning to walk, speak, think. We don’t know ourselves. We shoot up, awkward sometimes.

In summer, we own the world, we gloat. We shine without realising, we cover the land with our steps. We make love and we dream.

Golden autumn, they say, is the most beautiful season. For others, it means S.A.D. Now we begin to slow down, watch bits and pieces fall. A chill runs through us.

Then winter arrives. We see the seasons in others and remember our own; wisdom alone brings joy. We stop and wait.
picosgemeos: (Montanhas)
Walk home after work through Mile End Park, Regent's Canal.

Autumn in London has been beautiful so far: sunny skies and crisp days.

I walk through Bow and Peckham on my way to work, listening to recently downloaded albums: the new ones from Erasure, Ghost Culture, Disclosure, CHVRCHES and New Order – plus some old ones too (Pet Shop Boys, 1999; Yazoo, early 80s.)

I have no energy or disposition to exercise once I’m back home; I’m envious of those heading towards Victoria Park. I’ve tried a few times to get off the tube earlier and walk up Mile End Park, following Regent’s Canal. I’m invisible to incoming cyclists and joggers.


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