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You are in: Northamptonshire » Features

April 2004
Write '04
The entries

Walking For A Change
By Chris Belson
from Wellingborough

Today, as I reached my house, I carried on walking. I didn’t stop, didn’t give it a second look, just carried on walking down the street. Past the telephone pole, past the two private bungalows, past the rippling stream with the bank of spring daffodils, just taking my time, slowly walking.

The air was clear and hot, but there was a light refreshing breeze cooling my skin down as I moved. For this time of year, it was blissful and idealistic. Respiration increased and faces tanned. Smiles were smiled and waves waved by every hand. No waves were exchanged by me, I just wandered, and smiled and respired.

A small boy just threw a stone over the road to attract the attention of a friend. I can hear a group of girls behind me, laughing about my big headphones. I just didn't fancy going home today. I didn't fancy sitting down at my window and watching the paper boy struggle up the hill on his bike. The television tells my sisters i won't be missed, as they glue themselves to their seats and eat the lunches they didn't eat at lunch time.

I floated with the breeze, down into town. I floated up Sheep Street and a thousand estate agents and last nights discarded kebabs. I travelled with time, in one straight line. I couldn't stop and didn't look up at church clocks and pulled my sleeve over my watch.

As i reached the market square, the crowds of school kids broke their bond and dispersed into shops. Some to buy food and some to look at smaller headphones. The ones that fall out of your ears and ruin your songs. I carried on moving, back into the suburbs. Along side the dog walkers and stuggling paper boys. To the left were some playing fields. Large kids in studded boots, taking penalty shots at considerably smaller kids, in smaller studded boots.

On the other side of the road was a row of front gardens. Several lawnmowers cut the grass of several, otherwise seamless lawns. Every garden just like the next, every hedge like every hedge.

I eventually reached the edge of the town, so i found a bench and sat down. I don't know whether i feel the need for an adventure. Not now. For to wander beyond this small amount of change in routine would be a great feat. Maybe tomorrow, you know, 'another day' as they say.


Also see
• Write '04 - index of entries
• More on Write '04
• Writing homepage

 


 

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