Bananas, Rhubarb, Broken Eggs and Deluges

Was it the weather that made me so agitated yesterday? It was hot and muggy and then there was that deluge of rain. Torrents of water gushed from the downpipes and I rushed around shutting all the windows. People call such flooding biblical and the evidence of it was clear this morning as I walked into town. The pavements had dried but the drains were all filled with debris – twigs, leaves and scraps of litter hugger mugger-ed together all sodden. It was a small thing and I blew it out of all proportion (it’s been awhile since I’ve done that, I thought I was growing calmer, wiser). A broken egg, still in its box but spilling wet into the bag and soaking the other contents. We do things differently. And he does his best. And I don’t want to hurt him but I hear my voice beginning to criticise. Ah, me. He understands. He does. And I carry it into my dreams.

We were in South America in an airport I was travelling back to see Mum. I needed some sustenance to take with me. All the food courts were full of fresh produce – cabbages, lettuces, carrots – they looked like greengrocers. I saw some rhubarb. Lovely but how would I cook it? I watched a woman take a bite of some raw. I opted for a banana and went to pay for it. But then I forgot that it was in my bag and went to pass through the turnstile. Then I remembered and went to a till. The woman kept passing my banana back and forth on the conveyor trapping it in between where it feeds in and out till it was getting all mashed up. I didn’t know what to say and when I tried to find the coins to pay for it in my purse I couldn’t.

A nothing dream about irrelevant fears that sometimes take over my day. Monday’s are busy. Though the busy-ness is of my own construction.

A mist hangs heavy over us though the sun is trying to come out. Will there be another crop of blackberries?

Work now. I go in and out of confidence with my ideas. Keep me steady.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.