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Her eyes met his, across a field of wheat. The sun beat down from the clear blue sky. She didn't notice the ears of wheat glistening in the field that separated them.
He noticed her, his heart skipped a beat as he saw this creature of desire in the distance.
His hand reached onto the fence, followed by one foot then the other, as he slowly climbed up and over, at all times his eyes focused on hers.
At the far side of the field, mirror-like, she did the same.
Slowly they descended into the field, heads just above the crop, with the sun unknowingly changing the colour of their very pale and freckled faces.
Their eyes were talking, as they moved through the grain, like magnetic limpets, drawn together.
Though they weren't aware of it, to a stranger, this would have looked like a scene from a Hollywood movie, possibly in the sun drenched plains of the American west. In reality, this was the normally  rain drenched plains of the Irish countryside.
A rare day of sunshine had, by coincidence, brought both of them to opposite sides of this field that would, unknowing to them, change their lives.
Slowly they moved closer, as if they were dreaming, disturbing the grain slightly, as if the wheat voluntarily made way for the impending encounter.
Joe slipped slightly as his foot entered a small hole in the ground but he didn't fall and never lost eye contact.
She never noticed his trip as she seemed to float closer towards him, eyes locked.
Her cotton dress had dragged slightly against the roughness of the fence but she didn't concern herself with this minor detail.
There was the sound of a wood pigeon in the distance, probably complaining about the heat and hoping they will leave some of the grain for him.
He need not have worried, grain was the last thing on their mind as they rushed closer and closer together. Her dress had torn but was the furthest thing from her mind at this moment. Her eye's were fixed on him and his on her. The distance between them shrunk as they ran at ever increasing speeds, hands outstreched. As they made contact, she placed her arms around his neck, his moved quickly around her hip and grabbed he back pulling her close. suddenly they became one as their lips me, he swollowing hers and she swollowing his. They kissed passionatly as they slumped to the ground, disappearing from the sight of the wood pigeon and showing no sign of needing air. they explored every pore in each other until they felt exhauted but satisfied.
There was a long pause as they lay side by side, holding hands and staring at the clear sky.
Fuck it! she cried, " I'm burned all over". He laughed "So am I, but I love you not matter what colour you are.
"Me too" she replied as they both leaned over and kissed gently. They then leaned back and slowly fell asleep.
Both woke at the same time as the rain soaked their skin and left them feeling cold. "What time is it" she asked, "I'm not sure, my watch is in the field somewhere and it's not waterproof". She laughed gently as her soaked hair clung to her face, impeding her efforts to find her very wet clothes. "I wouldn't bother putting these on, only it might shock the locals to see the two of us walking in the rain, naked". Both of them laughed at this thought and kissed gently again. "Come on, lets get out of this rain, hope the heating is on, i'm shaking with the cold".
They headed back to the log cabin where the mock log fire was burning fired by natural gas from the nearby gas pipe.
Joe had recently won a position with the drilling company Anglo Oil and was supplied with a log cabin as long as he stayed with them. He had been working now for three weeks and hadn't seen Jenny for that time. She worked for the same company in Dublin and played no small part in him getting the job. She wasn't keen on him being away for so long but it was something he wanted to do. They needed the money if they were to buy the house they liked. The house in Eniskerry had been on sale for over a year and they hadn't enough money saved for a deposit. They didn't worry as the agent told them he would give them a shot at putting in a bid if anyone showed interest. They were convinced no one would in the current times as the banks weren't giving out mortgages too easily.
Jenny headed for the shower to be followed by Joe. They washed each other intimately, slowly. As they rubbed each other with their fresh new towels, Joe whispered sensually "I could eat you, Jenny".
"That could be a problem, for me" she whispered back, "Maybe I should cook something, quickly, before I disappear into your inner self" she laughed.
Joe grabbed her breasts and rubbed them slowly "I don't think I can let you go long enough for that".
She grabbed him jokingly by his enlarged manhood "Maybe you better or I might fry these, now that wouldn't do, would it".
"OK" he said letting go her breasts, "I give in, whats for dinner".
They sat eating  her quickly cooked meal and whispered sweet nothings at each other.
"I'm afraid to ask the next question but here goes. What do you want for dessert" she teased.
"Mmm, I'll have to think about that" he hissed, staring, "what about apple pie and cream. I'll see after that".
"Apple pie it is and we will see after that".
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A new day dawned, love was still in the air. Joe stared at her as she lay asleep, angelic looking, lost in her dreams. He hoped he was part of the dream that seemed to place a very contented smile on her face, her blemish free face. He stroked the side of her head, rubbed his finger through her freshly dyed blond hair. She made a sound “Ahaaa” contented, life was perfect, for the moment.

He decided to leave her to the dream that was happiness and go for a walk in the fields surrounding their little abode.

The sun was shining as it should in a perfect romantic setting. He felt elated, as if he was in a Hollywood movie, where happiness lasted for ever. He walk through the fields at one with the birds singing and the rabbits bouncing around, unafraid. the sound of a gentle, yet turbulent river, could be heard in the distance, so he headed that way. the speed of the water was in contrast to the day, it was moving fast and he could see fish on the river bed, through the clear water. He had no idea what the fish were called but felt, in the joy of the moment that he would spend some time trying to educate himself on fish varieties in this river. He also promised himself he would look up the name of the river and inform himself of the many mysteries of this countryside.

He picked up a flat stone and threw it at the water, skimming it, to see how many times it jumped and hopped. He had seen this done in the movies and wanted to see if it was as easy as it seem. It wasn't but he tried a few times and felt the muscles on his arm sore but he was getting the hang of it.

  .

To be continued!

Why not help to continue this story by adding pieces in my comment box

Dublin-A City shaped by it's lovers.

Happy colour

Yellow is the colour of happy or so it seems, look at all the smilie’s and they are yellow with happy faces. It is also the colour of cowards, could it be that cowards are happy and brave people suicidal?

What does this mean for other colours, are they unhappy. Take black, very dark, depressive, deep and troubled.

Green could be seen as raw, maybe a little naive, with a lot to learn. What colour would green be if you added experience. Could experience have a colour?

Of course red flashes danger, excitement, maybe a step into hell, an adventure on the dark side. Is there a relationship between red and black?

Blue is often a reference to people who are down and not feeling very good, as well as the colour associated with baby boys. It is also associated with the Dublin Gaelic football team, at the moment ‘All Ireland champions’ and Eddie Corcoran’s ‘Blue Suede shoes’.

All very human and emotive, could this point to colours having human characteristics
                                                                                                                                                                

 We can see colours but can we hear them.

What would yellow sound like, maybe a giggle or could this be affected by the shade of yellow. Say a light yellow having a very effeminate giggle while a deeper yellow having a male deep giggle or guffaw, worth a thought?

Black would of course make menacing sounds, maybe with an echo, suggesting menace at the end of a tunnel or around the corner.

Red would be devilish and enticing, alluring and very open, “Why don’t you come this way my little lovely, Ha! Ha! Ha!

Blue would appear in a dark basement with jazz like sounds, lots of smoke and people trying to climb into the colour yellow, with copious amounts of drink, assorted cigarettes and various other substances.

The other side of this equation is of course, that sounds have a colour rather than colours having a sound.

A guitar player could throw out a compendium of colours along with various shades, depending on his or her skill. Take Rory Gallagher or Gary Moore, what they could do with intensity and speed of their riffs, a rainbow of sound.

Procal Harum’s ‘Whiter shade Of Pale’, with its pure sounds suggests as it’s name states, a lot of white sounds with some blue thrown in as an extra.

The one formally known as Prince and now, again known as Prince, sends out a lot of black and dark red, maybe violet sounds.

Do I need to continue, let me know what you think?

Dublin-a City defined by it's colour

What gives me Joy?

Painting pictures with words, using a pen and a contributory mind. Sketching, etching, shaping, colouring, shading and dreaming.
I can crawl into a cave full of jewels or save a Damsel in distress, all in the same afternoon. How happy she would be?
I can climb Everest with poetry, sail any ocean with prose, powered by an active exploring mind.
Nothing impossible, always challenging, living life to the full.
When i finish this, i could sell some of the jewels from the cave i crawled into and donate the proceeds to solve the problems of our exchequer and later, solve those of Greece as well.
Nothing impossible and i could do this with ease and fun.
With a pen and a contributory mind, I would appear on television and advise the leaders of the free world and the rest, if they would listen.
All this with the same pen, mind and within twenty fours hours, i would sleep happy.
Oh Joy!

Dublin-A City defined by Joy-or Marsha or Debbie or?

Difficult neighbours? By JC

Difficult neighbours are not that strange or so it looks. I mean, everyone has them, don’t they? Its strange neighbours that are difficult or so it seems to me.

Mine though are a bit different, really strange, at least to me and I hope you will agree. Having said that, I’m not so sure they would agree, I haven’t discussed this with them, should be scary if they see this.                                                                                                                                            

If you know them don’t draw their attention to this blog, please.

They constantly roar at each other and smile at me, at least I think it’s a smile, maybe a slimy smirk, which never crossed my mind until I started to write this. Maybe I should stay away from blogs as you can see how it makes me a little paranoid.

Are they smiling at me because I’m the nicest person in the whole wide world or are they smirking 
because they think I’m a bit strange, surely not?

I mean, I’m very normal, surely you agree? It really is tough being a little paranoid, i wonder would 
it be easier to be fully blown paranoid?

The only thing we have in common is the descriptive pro-noun, very, which underlines our very 
different states of mind, I hope?

I often wonder if they know they are strange, very strange and why all the shouting. It’s not necessary, though they must see some benefit in it.

I suppose they could be hard of hearing but shouting and roaring is not the only strange thing about 
them, not by a long shot.

Oh no! There are stranger things happening that side of our fence and regularly.

On Sunday in the heavy rain, out came the dinner table, white tablecloth, candles etc. Down they sat, not a bother on them, chili Con Carne, always chili con carne or so it seems and bottles of wine, with no attempt to cover them. The candles, needless to say, didn't last long but that didn't faze them, they just continued in the very heavy rain, as we looked on, eating their very runny chili con carne and drinking their sodden French wine. No sign of an umbrella or raincoat. All the time roaring and screaming to their heart's content. No grace before or after just roaring and screaming with soft sensuous classical music in the background, very loud.   I should explain at this point that they always seem to be enjoying themselves and never fall out with each other, best of friends.

On one occasion they tried a television in the garden while having one of their sodden meals as they are referred to locally, but the rain soon dampened that idea with a small popping noise and a little smoke. A beautiful 42-inch plasma screen long before anyone else on our street could afford one            Ireland were playing rugby somewhere or other but it really didn't matter as Ireland lost badly and it was probably better they couldn't see our side being ridiculed on the pitch.

Mind you, while watching the tele, for the short while, they were very quiet, so quiet I looked out to see what was wrong. I needn't have worried, they were back to normal as soon as the tele blew, Whoosh! didn't stop them from eating their chili Con Carne or drinking their sodden French wine, yes! They enjoyed themselves as usual.

Having said all this, I’m sure this behavior is all very normal in their household even if it’s seen as strange on our street and as far as the rumours have spread. To be fair, some of the rumours are exaggerated and way off target.

The other side of this conundrum and the final piece of my case, i have never seen them eat outdoors in the sunshine or a cold day without rain. Once or twice they have dined in the snow, whether it was falling or on the ground but as we don’t have much snow it’s hard to base a case on that.

As i say, strange, very very strange, i hope you agree?

JC-Dublin-A City defined by it's friendliness

Conversations.

We all get into conversations about whether we believe in something or not.

This usually emanates around religion or whether we believe a politician or not.                

This is usually a black or white situation, no grey here.                                                       

There's a god, heaven/hell, the devil etc. we are also convinced that all politicians are 

corrupt, unless of course, we are members of that political party, then it's the other party, 

while ours has all the answers. Non-belief implies non-existence, whether it’s about Adam 

and Eve or  someone  telling the truth or otherwise. We point to the fish crawling from the 

sea or the non-existence of the truth.

I would also question if the world is really round or flat as was claimed in previous

centuries.

All circles, including the globe/earth have 360 points of equal distance apart. If, as

we are told, the shortest distance between each point is level, meaning flat, surely

this implies the earth is in fact flat?

I’m sure this is all good, but what about thoughts, are they real? I mean, if you think

something, surely that’s real. A dirty thought, that came from nowhere? I don’t think

so. Beautiful thoughts, thoughts of love, memories etc, all real, surely if you think of a

deity, that has to be real, even if it only exists in your head, your head is a real place,

surely?

What about leprechauns, ask any farmer, he/she won’t believe in them, yet! will point

you in the direction where they can be found, "you'll find them over there" of course pointing 

in a direction that has no measurement, goes on forever.

There is of course the gold at the end of the rainbow. Surely rainbows exist and there must

be an end to them. If the gold at the end of the rainbow exists, surely the little people who

own the gold must also exist. I come back to the prognosis as put to me by a social worker

recently, if it's in your head, it's real.

Any thoughts on this?

Dublin-A City shaped by its 'thinkers'.

Change

“The Times They Are a changing” a song by Bob Dylan released in 1964. In 1965 Dylan left the stage of the Newport festival where he was booed while playing electric guitar. The was a lot written in the music press about him being untrue to his roots in folk music when he incorporated electrical guitar, a major sin. (I should note there is an alternative explanation for the crowd reaction, It happened after the Emcee announced that there was only time for three songs from Dylan-Take your pick).

Our debate on the weather is similar, in that we feel cheated when we don’t have our summers when they should be, or at least when we want them.

If we listen to our inner self and some of our media commentators, it should be sunshine from April to the end of August. Trees should have a golden rustic hue in September, at least the leaves should.

Of course, we also complain about this aspect of natures beauty being on the ground and posing some danger, particularly when it rains.

Snow is welcome on Christmas day and right through to March. That is until it happens and interrupts our travel.  The cheek of snow to close our airports, cause our buses to stop or go slow. In fact, fall in areas where it has fallen for centuries before man arrived.

We fail to appreciate the beauty of our stark bare trees and bushes. The shapes, varied and many, revealed in winter, hidden all summer behind leaves and other foliage. Hidden in summer, nature plays a trick on us.                                                                                                           

Winter gives us the opportunity to admire nature at its barest. As we turn from summer to Autumn, to winter through the transitional month of September, we see nature turn its leaves slowly from green to a golden rustic red, as it sheds its clothes.                                                                                               

A slow striptease, promising us as much as our imagination can facilitate.

Trees are like natures bare bodies, with many curves and shapes, both sensual and ugly, often at the same time.

A bare tree against a frosty sky with its orange hue as a background to this barren shape is one of nature’s gifts to the admiring and receptive mind.

Of course, we need to slow down, give nature quality time and take in all it has to offer.

Often we have this naked growth covered with snow, dripping water against the greyness, only presented before or just after a presentation of this crystallised gift from Mother Nature.

It is interesting to note that in this week of our annual Indian summer, we are told that ‘The Salmon’ has reappeared in the Tolka River (Dublin, Ireland) after being missing for one hundred years.

Presumably, stating the obvious, if it has returned, it was there previously.

In a sense, this shows us how independent Mother Nature can be and no matter what we expect or our commentator's demand, nature will do as nature does.

Could we learn from this?