Drowning

May 2008 and the moon is just a slice in the night sky, the smallest slice imaginable and yet still visible. It seems like someone might have etched it there with highly polished alabaster.
Early morning the Poplar trees are shedding feather like seeds, they either line the edge of the verge like snow would or, in the light morning breeze, drift slowly upwards like bubbles making everything appear to move in slow motion and for me to feel if I am swimming under the water.