The first sunny day of Spring
Paulie opens the curtains in his bedsit to sunshine. And blue skies! He basks in it for a full minute, feeling the heat on his naked body. Fuck, yeah!
He drags his slumbering lover from sleep, although with this being the first sunny day of spring six weeks past its due, Draco needs little persuading. Soon they are out on the street, relishing a city transformed. All of London seems to have shed its winter cover and from under the dark, hooded coats emerge the bright hues of its spring plumage.
By the time they reach the common, the E they dropped is starting to kick in, making everything even brighter and more vivid. It makes Draco chatty and impulsive; Paulie just grins and allows himself to be dragged along by the beautiful boy he barely knows. The park is alive: there are people everywhere. Kites, balls, games, picnics…London has been stockpiling this stuff all winter and has dropped all other plans to grasp the opportunity to bring it out into the long-awaited sun.
Draco cartwheels across the grass, scaring a puffed up pigeon trying to persuade its mate to make hay while the sun shines. Paulie watches with lustful awe for the boy's youthful athleticism and does a forward roll, making the younger man laugh.
They head for the highest point in the the common, feasting on the sights and sounds of the London that appears like magic on a sunny day. A group of young Asian girls, some in head scarves, are playing Lady Gaga loudly, so Draco shows off the dance moves that first caught Paulie's eye in the club. The girls mainly giggle; one shyly joins in and squeals with delight when Draco picks her up and swings her. Paulie's grinning from ear to ear as they move off and he pulls Draco into a long, passionate kiss the minute they have a semblance of privacy.
They settle on a spot with a good view and strip off their shirts to catch the sun. As the E rolls through them, the ripe energy of spring is alive in every cell in their body. Breezes harden their nipples, while the heat caresses them lazily, a lover with a feather's touch.
An ice-cream van tinkles into view. Paulie joins the throng drawn to its siren call, smiling beatifically at strangers and delighting in the oh-so-rare-in-London pleasure of having them smile back. The crowd at the van is a microcosm of London's melting pot: every race, creed and colour queuing in the way only the English know how. Even babies of four and five are issuing instructions, “That's not the queue, you know!”
Paulie takes his purchase back towards the spot where Draco's muscular body lies in the sun. He catches the eye of a small nappy-headed boy whose also carrying ice cream and smiles, shifting his gaze to the woman with him.
“What are you looking at?” she snarls, her face reddening beneath bleached hair and walks past leaving Paulie recovering from the blow in her wake.
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Author's Note
Spring came late to London this year. The city transforms on a sunny day and I wanted to capture some of that feeling.
No focus, even though the random snippets of extraordinary, vivid images are wonderful. Artistic, but what is the point? The title "First Sunny Day of Spring", leads the reader to conclude there will be some relevance to that title, but I didn't see it. What is the re- or new/emerging creation content that I would expect from the thematic/title. You paint broad, admittedly beautiful, even individually extraordinary, brushstrokes but the picture is in, my favorite word, muddy.
Thanks for commenting David. I consider myself a beginner, I'm just starting to write again after more than 13 years without doing anything creative, so your feedback is very welcome! On the day I wrote it (literally the first sunny day this spring) I was really only trying to capture the mood of the day, but I agree that it kind of goes nowhere. Thanks again for taking the time to read and comment.
You know, Czeslaw Milozs, the great poet, says that poets are like reporters. Perhaps this could be a poem about the first sunny day of spring. You have images and mood down, so experiment.
By the way I liked it. I agree with David though if you want it to be remain a story.
I might disagree. Though I feel there's some overwriting here, I like the ending. It's like walking into a wall. The overly-optimistic meeting reality that sends him reeling.
I suspect I'll never be a poet, although I wish I had such facility! Thanks so much for taking the time to comment. On the over-writing, does that mean the description is too long for the pay off? I think the 'walking into a wall' effect (love that description) is kind of what I was after when I ended it that way: would it be improved by a brutal edit of the preceding text?