Letting It Flow

The winds have settled enough for me to contemplate leaving my hair untied when I venture outside.

The streets smell of new rain and fresh wood smoke, which billows in lazy clouds into the grey sky above. My breath mimics it, my own little steam cloud as I walk.

Away from the main streets the city is still and quiet.

Spring is coming. The whole city is waiting, expectant. The street lamps are still dim, though it’s closer to six than five. Greenery is creeping back, expectant buds and vibrant leaves.

I deliberately take new routes, make new turns, leave the familiar behind for a block or two. The city feels warm and familiar. I can get lost on purpose, knowing I’ll turn a corner and be back in familiar territory once again.

I can pick the pattern of the traffic lights again, know when to walk across the road and when to run.

I forget to listen for the accents, or to look for street names. I don’t need street names to find my way back.

I am home.

I’ve decided to adopt a new strategy when it comes to writing: embrace what comes, when it comes, and avoid the urge to over-criticise and edit. I wrote this whilst walking through the streets of Edinburgh’s New Town this evening. It’s about as raw as you can get, somewhere between a stream of consciousness, a poem, and a story. It’s unedited, copied directly from the notes section on my phone. Mostly, it’s just an insight into my mind. So be kind. Hopefully the inspiration will flow from here…


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