The Windy Day

Its a windy day, witch blusters and buffs about, streaky clouds in the blue sky.

That's it, I've pull the gown down over my half naked body, and I'm dressed enough to sing in choir. James is leading us, and we are singing a really great gospel song or reggae song. I get really enthusiastic, clapping my hands, and it wakes up something in the landscape. The singing brings the spirits of the place alive, and they are called to this place we are in.

We are located just on the edge of town - just off the old roman road near wellow. We got hear by walking the old foot paths from the house past the old cottage and the old barn, now looking rather derelict, and forgotten about, yet just a short distance from the old road.

As we are singing, the spirit of jimi hendrix comes to us, and shows us a song in which he made the bass player perform a really hard bass line that took him ages to get right, but jimi was sure about how it should sound, and sure enough, the bass player in his band, practiced and practiced, and got it in the end.
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And our song we are singing, (despite me looking quiet weird) floats down the road, on the wind that carries it, to the council homes, there at the edge of the town.

We hear some banging of doors and windows, as the wind that carries our song, is whipped around the harsh corners of the square brick buildings, and narrow passageways.

We decide to go and investigate, perhaps someone could do with a hand, or maybe we could just sing them a song through the windows. As we get closer we can hear the howling of the wind getting louder, and the banging door or window slamming its self against its frame.

We reach the source of the racket, and by now its only me and james left, the other choir members left long ago.  All the windows of the down stairs flat are open, as well as many windows in the upstairs flat. Unfinished laundry is blowing in the wind, hanging off window frames, both upstairs and down stairs. Some has been blown out of the windows, and is lying on the ground. It looks like some cleaner  has abandoned a job, left it half done, and forgot to close the windows and now its been blown around by the wind who knows no boundaries.

I see a character sat in a chair in the upstairs flat. Its an old lady sat in a chair, still as a rock.

I see an old man sat in a chair down stairs, also still as a rock.

They are sleeping in their chairs, as the wind howls around them, banging doors and windows. The place looks abandoned and I think the old people must have died.


 All of a sudden, as if woken by our presence, or the resonance of our just ended singing, the lady in the upstairs flat Bounces out of her chair, and tells us "come here", in a slightly manic voice, holding her finger up to motion us over. Her eyes are wild, sunken back in her face, and yet also child like. She stairs fearfully into space, as if she can't see us properly, but she knows we are here. She is bone thin and wearing a dressing gown.

The wind howls and a door slams.

Now the old man wakes up. But he can't move and is stuck in his chair. He is really needing help. I go over to him, to see what it is he needs, and to offer my support. I go in through the open door, and see him, grey hair, bent over in the chair, barely able to hold his head up. When I approach him, a cat turns up, climbing in through the open window, and treading on some large foxglove leaves that have been placed on the window sill.

The wind howls, and the door and windows bang and slam, shaking the house. Yet the cat walks through calmly, as if it owned the place, with the essence of foxglove on its paws.