A wren came to my house. Shocked to be there, on the floor, by my working desk. For a fleeting moment we were aware, wren and I, and then it flew. I found it by my bed, not a mark on the glass of the garden door. My little wren, so still, stunned … More Wren
September in the City Approaching Clapham Junction, The train slows. Across the electric divide, clouded windows of city grime, sky-scraper concrete and bright neon signs. ‘Mind the gap’. The recording repeats. Carriages empty their crowded seats, cases on wheels, rucksacks on broad backs, travellers in smart suits with Iphones and Ipads. Sweat-shirts and joggers plugged … More September in th…
Winged Horses Traffic lights are red. The radio broadcasts jingles that could get into your head. Across the way, two horses face each other, as still as a day with no wind. In the silence of morning light, winged horses take flight, lasso my willing soul.
Three lane traffic speeds along the M4. From the car radio, the melody of Clare de Lune creates a daffodil in my auto-pilot mind. Emerging from winter sleep, in graceful growth with the classical notes, it stretches and sways, in awe of the world first seen, until a trumpet of sunburst yellow, short and complete.
