I wouldn’t have thought the sea waves at Shanghumugham could sprinkle water so far away. For I was at this sand hill way far, watching the orange sun and the tiny crescent of a moon play hide and seek – when one appears, the other hides under the clouds. But when I licked my lips I could taste salt. Yum!
I planned to walk cause the breeze seemed unwilling at first to …
“Oh lord would you stop already?” fancy pal Jim raised his sleepy head.
“What?”
“All this stuff about breezy seas and starry nights. Haven’t you been writing too much about all that already!”
“But it’s fun stuff. You should listen to the lazy breeze slowly get up from the north… err south… err ahem, a faraway point and bring their tiny little… err”
“Asses?”
“Jim! Language! This is a universal blog, I don’t wanna certify it with an 18 plus!”
“Right! And what about the north south wind? Oh wait, it was a far away point rite? How romantic, how poetic!”
“A minor vocab handicap”
“Of course. And the salt part of it was?”
“The description. Ye always describe every taste and smell and sight when… err when…”
“You try to be Mills and Boons?”
“I wasn’t! Argh! I had some serious stuff coming up. But now cause you interrupted, no one will ever know how good that was going to be”
“Let me help you out here Cris. Inject some more waves, some music, some twilight darkness, a few couples walking hither and thither holding hands, while you slip into a world of imagination…”
“Ok ok I get the picture. Hmm maybe I was overdoing it a wee bit”
“Wee bit?! Cris, you forgot what an unmushy world was like!”
“That bad?”
“That bad”
“Okay then! No more mush!”
“No more”
“No more lovey dovey cushy tushy stuff”
“No Sir”
“No sun or moon or stars or sky”
“No breeze either”
“No beaches, no buses”
“No… err why buses?”
“You like them?”
“Very friendly beings if you ask me. Keep honking and hopping all the time.”
“Creative little things aren’t they?”
“Creative, yes. Little, not. But ye they are the best”
“Hail buses!”
“Hail buses!”
“From now on we write about buses. And bus stops. And bus bays. And bus conductors”
“Err we?”
“Of course Jim, we love ‘em”
“Oh we do, but writing – you do. I will do the sulking.”
“Oh really? In that case I am bringing back the seas and skies and trees and all!”
“You will, will ya?”
“Yes I will. Unless you agree to do half the writing.”
“Half?”
“Half. 50 per cent. One by two.”
“Woah considering your number of words, that’s long!”
“Yep”
“Emm Cris”
“Yes Jim?”
“Maybe the nature thing is not so bad after all. Ol’ Wordsworth did it, didn’t he?”
“Sure did.”
“And people love Wordy”
“Oh yes they do”
“Maybe the universe is not all that bad then. I mean what harm could a few waves and tiny bits of sand do?”
“As I said, creative little beings those things are.”
“Friendly too.”
“Oh yea, very.”
Story of a lost journalist 