Planks . . .

. . . in shed's own window.

Glimpse of early rape

. . . on leaving the village . . .

Ephemerality

The cherry tree's . . .

. . . flowerage . . .

here does it end.

Rhapsody in Green

. . . while waiting for a train.

Friday is Skyday

Stairs to . . . ?

On the road

Green green trees of home.
Or so.

Mayday

There's a humming and buzzing,
a droning and whirring in and around Seanhenge*,
and a blaze of colours that would fill anyone
who has ears to hear, eyes to see and a nose to smell,
with joy and happiness.

* Thankfully, Seanhenge happens to be not situated
in . . . and . . . and . . . and . . . and . . .
oh well, you get the picture.
I am grateful.

Monochrome Monday. . .

. . .

Waiting for train

Waiting . . .

very relaxed . . .

... ah, there it comes.

Chimneys (again)

19:26

19:27

19:28

The inner clock

When he'd kissed her goodbye the old woman had smiled:
"Enjoy sleeping through, life-whisperer."

Leaving the hospital,
approaching his car
reflecting the past he was.
This was going to be the first night since October
there would no phone ring
at almost exactly 3:00 a.m.
He would sleep through.

He did not see his inner clock smiling.

Monochrome Monday

On the road.

Friday is Skyday

A heart full of love
arrowplane penetrating
emotionless sky