Sunday, 1 November 2015


Autumn rolls along today pushing us further away from something and yet not. That nothing into nothing. The temperature not quite cool yet, even though the doomsday meteorological threats of winter whine over and over. Broken record headlines on cheap rags. 

The song birds wrestle and tussle mid-air amongst sallow and crimson leaves. Their markings pronounced and cut with the ragged death veins of the sycamore, beech and birch leaves. The first bare barren trees. The banks of the white cart river slowly becoming starved as the bramble and hogweed slowly die off and allow the river shore time to recuperate and remember itself. A rested motion. Oblivious the river rolls and the pebbles bob and ebb. The water birds out of site but still in time, some other curve or nook. 

There is something strangely resting yet purposive about the rainbow’s coloured arch that rises over the later midday scene. Staring dumbly at its wonder. Little spits of rain falling. The breeze bobs and crooks as the small birch shedding a few yellow leaves here and there. Cars endlessly motion by. 

Later sun set. Clouds seem to sulk into sallow submission eventually embarrassed willowing away. Children point up and mumble something to mommas that pretend to understand a little. Some diagnosis of love between loved ones. The diagnosis day done. Workers leak out of public transport. Some take short cuts through the park. Some momentarily stop and light cigarettes. Thick blue plumes of smoke mingles with the blue’s of twilight. 

The sound of fireworks sent echoing through the maze of tenements into proceeding early Autumn night. The air cool and heavy hanging over the long evening. At the community green between the houses the habitants are lighting fireworks. Kids howl at the colours, cracks, whistles and pops. Giggling under the heavy smoke. 

clearing father’s house - 
an old photo of my brother 
carving a pumpkin 

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