Hula Hoops

As I have said things seem starker, stranger, larger-than-life out there in the early hours. Like the bag of hula hoops strewn across the road – the straw-yellow of those manufactured circles haphazardly adorning the tarmac. I noticed them after the students. There were two of them, one in shorts. I heard the noise first. Just at the beginning of Queen’s Road. They were doing something with a sign. A yellow diversion sign with a symbol of a circle and an arrow emblazoned across the front. The one in shorts was undoing the chain that held the sign to a lamppost. Then he was lifting it up high above his head and walking off with it. I remember it being a craze in my studying days, the nicking of signs as trophies. Now it just seems puerile. They’re there for a purpose, he said at breakfast, twats.

I was assailed by fear yesterday, today it is just anxiousness. I tried to reason it through. It could be the literature I am reading stirring things up. Or the moon that is almost full. I just feel deeply unsafe, to my core. Though what it is that frightens me I cannot say. Today I just want resolutions. I want to know where I am, what will happen. And the others involved don’t have that same need. I understand that completely. But this is how I find peace with everything in place. Knowing what to expect. All I can do is put forward my request then let it go. Let it be. Let it unfold as it will.

A last minute flit to work, a last minute guest. No time to think, no time to fret. She talks about ‘rearing’ meat in the laboratory, not animals, per se but their flesh. Ugh, Frankenstein farming. We are forgetting the precious balance.

No wind. All is gentle. Will she have sent them? So impatient, though I try to rein it in. A milky sky and birds having a field day.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.