I Am Curious Orange

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At the start of December, a few of the kids who live down the lane came a-knocking. They were after jobs to earn money for Christmas, and they thought I might have something for them. I’d met them many times in the park at the top of the lane as I played with my big ol’ husky dog Frank, and as he in turn played with them. A dog (especially Frank) can be a bonding, sociable experience in the right hands. The last time we all met, they ended up screaming in mock terror as Frank pursued them round the field in the late autumn afternoon. They were all legs, arms and fluffy white tails as they ran. The kerfuffle sent a couple of redwings straight up into the sky in fright. As the birds launched, Frank diverted from his chase to watch them, tracking their progress until he lost sight or interest. The pursuit continued and then little Danny fell into the pond, shrieking. As I fished the lad out he burst into tears, then laughter, then shivers. There was nothing for it - he had to be taken home, soaked and freezing cold. I gave the fallen soldier a piggy back and, as we all went back down the lane in the gathering gloom, he started singing...something like: “Thank you for the piggy back/thank you for the ride/I fell in the pond/and now I’m going home” - so who says that little boys have no grace? As he sang, his warm breath thawed my right ear and made me smile; fringe benefits.

Upon home delivery he'd taken on a deep, red glow…his mum commented on it and he confirmed that he did, indeed, feel all warm and glowing - like a bowl of tomato soup in fact! This prompted much reflection on my way home; so if he was red and glowing, what colour was I? The answer took a while to come but when it did, it was from the most unexpected of quarters. A week later I was sitting under a blanket on a moonlit park bench, with someone who is very dear to me. We were optimistically stargazing with a flask and some mince pies, and I wanted to know what colour she was. There was something in the way that she thought about it, and then answered, that made me sure she was right. She decided that she was pink…more specifically…baby pink. By that point, it was pretty clear to me what colour I was - a bright, deep orange, like the heart of embers that gives any fire its core. I knew I was right and so I sat there in the cold, dark night feeling all warm and glowy; fringe benefits.

And then, at the end of one year and the start of another, I was in my garden picking up the last of the fallen leaves, and slicing up a few random logs that I'd stashed. As I chopped, Frank sat sentinel on the wall just above the garden gate watching the world go by. As usual, he was silent and serene as he gazed at the Christmas ramblers with his big blue eyes. But just then he stood up and started wagging; approaching the gate was someone I almost-recognised, and who I certainly knew...and we were both wide eyed. The last time I saw Simon was 8 years ago, just before he went to Afghanistan for the first time. He's the second best person I've ever climbed with, and I'd missed him. We hugged, he came in and we talked as the day faded into night. He'd left the regiment after 5 years, battle weary and heartbroken for the friends he'd lost and the things he'd seen. However once he got back to the UK, he'd taken up ocean sailing and fallen utterly in love with it. Apropos of nothing he told me that life was so much better now, and that he felt very much like the sea that he loved so much - deep and endless and beautifully, wonderfully green.

I've decided that this year there are no resolutions, only realities. I promise to enjoy the moment for as long as it lasts, and if that turns out to be forever then that's just fine with me. I will listen to more music, read more books, talk to more people, and maybe watch the clouds just a little more too. Also this year there's no dress code, and there's no pressure.