The man who can’t be moved

The man who cant be moved

The irony of this moment may not be obvious at first glance. Today feels like the first time in ages that I have spent doing my thing, on my own. Just mellow enjoying the outside. A little interaction. Sun shining and wind blowing through my hair, giving myself a chance to breathe with no worries or fears.Time to think about the future and to consider things and the people that are important to me.I walked along the Thames, the beaches, swept clear by the tide. Sand laid high and flat. An artists dream. An opportunity to express.I spent the time with a stick on the riverbank drawing silly pictures that made me smile. I met up with some people I haven’t seen in ages and realised a sad, a depressing and brutally honest fact. These people I have known for a relatively short period of time have made more of an effort to spend time with me before I leave than those I once considered closest to me. Alas. People and things change.Today I had a chance to laugh at humanity, opportunity and instinct.

Being washed away

Today I drew a picture in the sand. A man holding a picture of a girl. Saying “If you see this girl can you tell her where I am” the words slightly offset spelling out “and one day your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I can be?” – It was the man who can’t be moved. To make me smile the surf slowly erasing my hard work. Eventually the man who can’t be moved. Well, he will be moved. Erased

I looked down at the scene, smiling at the irony, watching people take pictures of my drawing and wondering to myself if really, maybe, for a moment. The man who can’t be moved. Forever frozen in a picture and a memory, surf or no surf, forever.