Early stroll to Falkirk train station where a seagull dances on a roof and the shop behind it called Party is in perfect frame.
Early stroll. A blackbird flies so close to my face I can sense the mechanics of its wings. A gleaming doorknocker is a rhythm-in-waiting. A shattered bottle’s sharp constellations. A crow’s cries, like the tearing of stiff cardboard.
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In Golcar steaming yolk drips from the bottom of my bacon and egg sandwich, unctuous and golden like the blood of angels. Salty crisp goodness drags the day into focus and makes being a functioning adult a vague possibility.
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I want to live where you do - it seems so much nicer than my unpoetic, dull place!
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small steps. I would start by placing a glass of water on a low wall near where you live and see where things lead from there...
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A black cat lept from our lawn to the fence then lept again and was gone. A cat in our space is unusual in a garden kingdom of dogs.
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"A gleaming doorknocker is a rhythm-in-waiting"
bravo! -
Yes, bravo indeed!
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Beautiful
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