BRITTLE

The leaves will soon be brittle as they tighten in a late summer grip. Some will simply drop to form a mourning skirt around their tree. Others will be hoisted by the wind & scattered across the seasons, where they will pay their respects to autumn & winter by feeding a new year.

BUS TIMES TWO TABLE

Only the top deck of the bus can be seen above my garden hedge. I assume the bottom half is following beneath. But I'm not certain. If I can't see it, does it mean it's there? 

I dunno, you wait for the top half of a bus to arrive and both halves arrive at once. Probably.

BORNE ON THE BACKS

The wind makes trees dance as if no one's watching. Traffic lights; more reserved, lightly nod to the sway of the beat of a storm, safe in their knowledge that green follows red, that all this will pass, that the beat will survive, but borne on the backs of insects and leaves.

THE CURRENCY OF TIME

We keep track of the Currency of Time by focusing on the large amount we spend on work and building a life. We forget about the  loose change in a dusty drawer. 

Spend those small amounts doing what you love. Create. Travel. It all adds up.

You can't have fun in a dusty drawer.

THE BOOK OF TIME

Time is a well-thumbed, well-loved book, but there are always pages left to read.

It's not a book to be finished, it's a book to inhabit until you become part of the book and then it's your turn to hand it on to the next generation of readers. This is how the story must go.

FIRST CUP OF TEA

one more mash of the bag

one more splash as I stir

there's no dash, there's no red flag,

this brew can't deter.

TIME AND TRUTH

Time appears to fly

by faster and faster means

it doesn't really try

or so it really seems

from turbo-propped youth

to rocket-ship thunder

we're steered towards truth

and infinite wonder.

WHEN DREAMS GO WRONG

Last night I was dreaming of woodwork

That dream has now left me in dread

I'm stuck and I feel like a right berk

Stark naked in my neighbours shed.

BIT PART PLAYERS

A motorbike can be heard playing the Doppler Effects greatest hit. I wonder where they're going; this person who has no idea they are being written about, no idea they're a bit player in my life, albeit for a few brief seconds?

I wonder whose lives we'll play bit parts in today? 

PANTING

Summer is finally here. Days layered with warmth, unfolded by the dawn like a picnic blanket on a meadow. Where the breeze has to merely tickle the trees to make them laugh. Where pinballs of light bounce off open bedroom windows, which themselves resemble a panting dog's tongue.