(new twinkly sparkly)
a long time ago, when i lived in a city and i was sad, it seemed easily solvable. get out there and buy shoes, girl. but these days, these older, more womanly days, these sobering, grown up days, i live far from the long gone, coffee scented, smith street arcades. the thought of rummaging through mitumba's dusty piles of old shoes exhausts me.
all the news from the north of here makes my skin creep: the drought, the camps, the kidnappings, the kenyan defence force in somalia, the french navy bombing kisimayo, american drones, dead soldiers and the unblinking threats from al shabab breathing retaliation:
"...The Kenyan public must understand that the impetuous decision by their troops to cross the border into Somalia will not be without severe repercussions. The bloody battles that will ensue as a result of this incursion will most likely disrupt the social equilibrium and imperil the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians; and with war consequently comes a significant loss of lives, instability, destruction to the local economy and a critical lack of security..." Mogadishu (17/10/2011)
...it makes my skin creep. it makes me stare out the window for a long time.
a cloud covers my sun.
the breeze stops and my bird song is quiet.
there's a deathly hush. as though you're holding your breath.
my eyes blink in slow motion.
it makes me mad.
and very sad.
instead of shoes, these days i look for twinkly things that tinkle and sparkle and enchant. . . twinkly lamps, green glass wind chimes and other pointless pretty things. they make me happy. they make me fuss where to put them. i lie under the thorn tree and listen to the green glass tinkle, watching how the sunlight dances from ring to ring. i see us on our mountain top, you know, flags brave and unfurled, our arrows glinting silver in the sun, breathless.