Time is the loom
and we are the cloth,
we are weaved into life,
become flames to the moth.
1
I told my mate that he'd regret building his new house on that flood plain.
He didn't listen to me but I think it's finally sinking in now.
2
A bloke down the pub was a dedicated Flat-Earther.
Eventually I was able to talk him round.
3
The sun is making people squint. They look like Columbo right before he says "Just one more thing..." From this the lines on our faces are formed alongside our laughter lines and worry lines. The face makes no distinction between them. Dunno whether to laugh, cry or sunbathe.
Saturday looks around at the low clouds and finds little to smile about. The wind is suffering from ennui. It can barely tickle the leaves on the trees. A tiny bird perches on the wire of a telegraph pole, a single note awaiting accompaniment. As are we all as we start our day.
This mighty fir's protective canopy enables the tiniest of flowers to shelter and thrive around its base. It welcomes one and welcomes all. It knows its ecosystem relies on integrating Nature's gifts. There is enough in the garden for all.
A lesson some of us may have forgotten.
We live between both noise and light
It's where our hopes and dreams take flight
We seem to linger in this place
While chasing life at such a pace.
First cup of tea:
"Therefore, send not to know
For whom the kettle boils,
It boils for thee."
White clouds backlit by a rising sun. A curtain raised on another performance. There is a stillness before first light, but then birds sing, and you feel that it's just for you. It's looking like it might be a Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah kind of day.
Everything is, indeed, statisfactual.
Here in Northampton,
The Shoetown birds sing.
Tweeting like us,
About everything.