The Specialist

We walked passed women called The Skirt, The Legs, The Boots and The Lips during our brief morning escapade to see a specialist. Specialist of what!?!! I collect medical appointments and experiences. I don't mean to. They hunt me down like wolves their prey. I thought I was the wolf. Always so mistaken am I. It was the 3rd of April and the snow was crashing down around us, yet again. It was astonishing, blowing in at us from all sides, like the sky was around us and it was battling the concept of gravity. A month ago I had written a blog called 'The First Day of Spring,' (not because it was the official first day of spring, more because it felt that way) and ever since spring had been wholly pulverised by what started to seem like an interminable winter. If it had been a boxing bout the fight would had been stopped long ago, such was the damage Winter had done to Spring.

Anyway, we were heading in the opposite direction now, in a tram, to where we'd been going over an hour ago. Backwards and forwards, up and down, yo-yo snow, the soul is swimming.

We were like every other body, heading nowhere, trying to avoid our own ending. Doom lay all around us, love fighting forever, God with the conductor's wand orchestrating every single movement. Beautifully. Just beautifully.