UP HERE AT THE TOP OF THE HOUSE:
Sitting alone for a moment-in-the-moment with the sun,
the sound of wind in the trees, shapes that peel off
from their sinuous branches dance in hews of translucent
greens. Sound becomes physical, builds sculptures, ripples,
fingers tousling the hair of late summer. The last few
days have been increasingly happy, laughter every morning,
no time to dwell in the dark or ride a spiral down.
Buoyed on the mirth of these generous companions, travelling
this road with them I have no choice but to join in – that’s
a good thing. Even here at the the top of the house I hear them
laughing in the kitchen three floors below. I want to join in,
be with them, copy & learn from them – they do it so naturally.
I don’t have that jean, but around them it’s easy, it feels right.
Left too long with my own thoughts I’m inclined to side with
Mr Williams who exited by the back door last night as we were
Keep laughing & dancing brother & sisters.