I look at my To-Do-List for the day and how I wish it was already a Done-List. Then it could become waste paper - binned for recycling - but would it return as another list, as part of a novel, poetry, a love letter?
I add spuds to my list and dream of what could've been.
I pass a man mumbling to himself. I realise these days we're unaware if such mutterers are talking to themselves or merely chatting away on a hands-free mobile. I catch a brief snippet of "I love you" as I pass.
If he's not on the phone I'm equal parts flattered and concerned!
The air is so still it feels like it's about to pounce.
We are the insects trapped in amber; stuck to everything we touch, destined to be found in a million years by scientists who will marvel at our clothing, a flimsy pair of shorts and a pillow stuck to our heads!
The sun is not quite yet bullying the sky and allows a few light clouds to pass by. Many people seem to be walking their dogs earlier. Presumably to save their padded paws from the upcoming, unrelenting heat of the pavement. No hot dog stands today on the streets of Northampton.
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