Danny James

Tag: Sally in the Summer

488: Sally in the Sun

The realisation had barely settled upon the consciousness when my face had been brought home into Sally’s hands. As she whispered my name and drew close, I caught in the instant, the glimmer of long obstructed joyousness in her eyes. Suddenly, with space enough to run, and a great gasp of the soul free in the world at last.

We stood there awhile, utterly delighted and engrossed with each other, amid the crowd before the coal-face of Friday night service dissolving. They’ve occurred before in glimpses, perfect these gaps of Nature, and you’ve figured since you couldn’t be granted many more miracles similar.

We talked at the centre of a hurricane with the sun smiling perfectly overhead at the mouth. Actualized and fully engaged with the moment, we felt the surge of a vast and thrilling current, brimming to the surface yet remained all the while at ease in the deep and holy intoxication that overlapped our traumas.
”I didn’t want to interrupt,” She said genuine, unblinking and ablaze. I wished as soon as it left her lips that she had, and I would have immediately let my responsibilities crumble for the encounter.
I couldn’t help but consider, as Sally spoke how that if she were not already spoken for, her hands were a perfect fit for mine; her waist, impossibly alluring and I could see us laughing at many good times gone by as we lay next to each other on a sunlit hillside overlooking the Steel City, some years ahead of tonight. Just as I had finished imagining these things Sally had motioned with a sideways glance and rather quickly, that she was in fact here with her fianc√© and his family celebrating, something that I couldn’t quite translate through appreciating the rapture of her returning smile. Sally was always so infectiously easygoing and buoyant about the future and yet I was detecting somewhere here with her, moments of stuttered thought and a gazing solemnity with but a whit of an unresolved irritation.

We parted with proprieties and cautious glances and that, I estimated was unfortunately to be the necessary end. Stricken is the heart under spell of the imagination.

443: Sally in the evening

I was delightfully careless, in this period. Acutely aware of an increase widening near and happy to let my evolution towards its full blanket and assuming occur. I let things lie as howsoever presented, and whatever purpose lie in the kernel had I no regard to discover. Perhaps for reasons wise in retrospect, had I little cause for restlessness here… fewer distractions at least.
Work was fine enough in fact, at times sociably enjoyable and about all the clockwork and responsibleness suited me at this junction of my maturation.

‘I am aimless here,’ I recalled. Calmly, obliviously neutral. Undisturbed by past events and without interpretation of, much less anxiety for what tomorrow offer may. I sleep without plan and wake when I wake, with time plenty for long breakfasts and good books, and I’ve a training schedule down to a finely tuned regularity. There is money saved for whim departures, am furiously independent and present for anyone at any time because though it is still rather early and we are young, these too shall expire. And so I can float from that work and any place, out into the dark and back upon the path to happening upon what it is that I am truly here for if any. You don’t realise that just like a golden Angel at full strength can you actually fly from any place or situation and survive. Not just live, but breathe free and unstaggered, abolished of all worldly restraints. You don’t realise this natural magic possessed until, passed of some clash in the chest and an elaborate reasoning you’ve developed that had suddenly convinced you’re soul it had not the strength to start over again, that many times you simply choose not to.

And by a final initiation of a decided Celestial re-ordering of my life, the very moment I began to investigate these uncharted avenues of thought regarding the wider patterns and cross-sections of what were beginning to weave the outcome of my purpose and final effect in this world, it seemed that suddenly a consistent and consecutive emergence of subtle interventions were engaged, and something quite unimaginable and well-planned had been set in motion. There I was, struck, and urged to take my first step down a corridor of the consciousness that had peeled open out of thin air, or might have been present all the while that had I ready been deemed, might have earlier been sought. Staring vacantly into the ocean of diners that fateful Friday night when through this perplexing and sedative confusion of realities, I heard my name being called..
It began as an echo and ascended upon my reveries cocoon until I was sprung loose of my blissful spell as one is from the womb slowly and regretfully expelled. I turned my attentions with seemingly a vague expectation of a harmony, towards a familiar tone and warmth – like one to a lover in silence turns. That is when I saw Sally approaching. I felt myself at once begin to sink into a peaceful relief I had not for a very long time felt and I saw in Sally’s own surprise, what may have accrued about every bit of excitement as she were capable of experiencing and nothing subdued.

385: Sally in the Winter

I was discovering the advantages and obstacles of increased perception. From posting my meditations high above instead of among the boulevards of twisted metal and scrap industry dreams of the old coughing steel-city. A town that flirts with change like single romantics who give twice as little as consume, and so edge forward in a lonely aching ever-standstill. I can mark back to the long beginning of a great confusion of my making here. As mice and gulls would, by virtue of differing experiences of the same broken suburbia and beyond, entertain dissimilar impressions thereof. I had now a wider measure of insight to inform my decision-making, as well the sobering gravity of a lost illiteracy and a rain of new extravagance could nobody entirely drink.

Save the glassy reflection of headlights on busy wet roads, August nights as I recall, until Winters twilight offered no surprise or bother to the routine of living and my uncontemplated place in life. Gone are those days could never I have fathomed I’d miss, before that intersection of youth and a convinced-of adulthood where the Earths rolling seems to be gathering momentum and increasingly necessary thus are the sunrises you do not heed. When it’s decided that you’ve seen plenty and are utterly bored, but are not of experience enough to realise that this boredom is perhaps the peace of mind you will never again know, and bears an ignorance that once lit soon will burn habitually for years many more. So get on with it then.

The restaurant is in the peak of Friday night flurry, and I am where I most enjoy anything, sunk in the thickest of it. Up to my chin in the dilating depths of joyful letting go, wading and melting seamlessly shoulder to shoulder with whom has needs I must foresee, and craft around them quietly the next ease before the realisation steals upon them they were ever discomforts mark. An environment manager; a scene setting, helmsman of an evenings spectacle of sensory impressions. Outside, the rain drifts across like snow and pretty as it is, I have succeeded not if it withdraws them instead but dial it I must, the pitch and tone of wonderment enough to complement and not entirely distract from the reality which for them I am sewing as I envision it suits any instant in the ongoing connection thereof. A fantastical experience of perfectly woven sensation and meaning. Memory making and humdrum forgetting, – a spin and whirl of hours in an instant drawn, because outside of here will come soon enough and I am keeping the gates of this realm, against which fall away for a few hours all of your otherworldly misgivings, where may you sit unscathed to entertain the simple pleasures of free conversation and marry that with fine soundings and perfect relations. The underbelly network of this warped exposure is a melee of strings, smoke and mirrors stressed, beguiling, bending, and at any moment, threatened to fall apart. To heighten the tension it is turnover time and section heads here must hold as much professional repose-fullness as ever you’ll find to gracefully precisely deceive and flatter, as well tighten the hinges that keep us all together strained which buckling, might see this ship of fools topple over with a gasp and spilling out into the night and cold water over which we are situated. And I am there among it all, hidden in plain sight as intended, keeping order and overseeing the processing of my section unseen and imperturbable, all the while unescaped of her piercing eyes fixed on my every move. The watcher watched, I was done for; fated prey of her sweetest yearnings stewing patiently beneath the noise, and I wasn’t at all to know.

184: Sally in the Summer

At the time that we met, Sally was engaged to be wed and I was content in my own affairs. Perhaps it was in my busyness that I had not acquired a ready authority for rebuttal against sudden occasions of intimacy, and so was quite unprepared to find her presence so pleasantly misleading and necessary, further abrading my habitual disinterest of company with our every interaction. A faint esurience begun to beat in the blood, escalating a percussive verve into a tremorous diastole of an exposed unignorable space. The work to which my poise I long so diligently committed soon lost much of its relevance and appeal. A fog of some unknowable insight fell, at which I flinched initially, but soon found myself wading through in earnest, hung on the idea of precisely what I did not know, as when children act on instinctual whim and charge on wonderings that age and experience in propriety deny. And through the bedlam of grown-up static it steals from time to time, hitched upon a desperate sigh of fading impulse. – As when you find yourself more frequently not rushing from your car but instead, sitting and staring undecided in longer and longer bouts of absentminded relief, that you can finally slump without a witness to your inauthenticity. But the breach of some striking sense impression soon compels sobriety again, – such as windscreen frost glistening in the rays of a rising sun. Or the gradual intrigue of your breath visible in the Autumn morning, and you return at once enkindled again, to that which you must with all your present best.

Innocent departure kisses drew longer, and made from the cheek to the corners of our lips, assuming an unspoken daring and inappropriate delightfulness from which neither would withdraw, nor with talk delay hurrying to. I anticipated the forbidden collisions, prior outlining the usual bodily contact points, and leapt in hot to press our hips and the edges of lip flesh revelling the glimpse of plaguing joy in her eyes seconds before.
My hand found always its home in the svelte curvature of her lower back and each time as I pulled closer Sally would bounce to her toes so as to fit perfectly into the invitation. We held on, swaying in the silent affirmation, lingering the thoughts and savouring the rush of throbbing blood.