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Poetry, bikes, dementia care...
Poetry, bikes, dementia care...
Drive through banks, drive through chemists, drive through launderettes, drive through restaurants, drive through funeral parlours… Okay I made the last one up. But all the same nobody seems to walk anywhere much in this part of America so the…
Humans, like hire cars, need refuelling. Although there the similarity ends. Our Chevy Tahoe with its huge gas tank can go days between refills. We can manage only a few hours between meals. And while eating fast food and filling…
Burt Bacharach and Hal David were right. LA is a great big freeway. But as such it isn’t crash hot for cycling (more hot crash) so we hire a Chevy Tahoe for the 40 mile journey from LAX to the…
While you were sleeping The Plough cut a furrow across the field of night. Owls hooted and screeched in it’s wake Feasting on the shiny seeds of light that Orion cast from the pouch hitched to his rhinestone belt.
The owls were sated. Full of moles and torn up scraps of suede-skinned voles. Plucked from the ground in the dead of night by the white-winged warrior with the gift of flight. They didn’t hear the approach of death for…
The snow was mostly gone. But it lingered in the tramlines where tractors had trodden two months earlier. Then the ground was sticky and the tyres left what, from this distance, looked like the parallel prints of a finger painting.…
Molecule by molecule the mountain is dismantled by the soft but irresistible rain. The beech tree has snagged a scrap of night in its boughs and is holding it hostage to the day. Black wool on a wire fence stirred…
The tree tops are immersed in molten copper. Cast with the the horizontal rays of a dying sun. But the death of day breathes life into the night. And the blue black shadows, born short and shy in the seconds…
Scary creatures stalk wood, field and heath. Fox and badger with fearsome teeth. Death and destruction wherever they pry. Henhouse, sheepfold, pond and sty. All is happening while the farmer’s asleep. Rounding up flocks of imaginary sheep. And by the…
The lovers laid on the drier ground in the middle of the copse. Face to face. Hand in hand. Two thin lines drawn so close together that from any distance they’d have appeared as one brush stroke on the canvas…