On a Long Forgotten Morn.

‘T was in another lifetime, full of toil and blood, blackness was a virtue, the road was full of mud, I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form….

Hang on, the kettle’s boiling……

I decided to use yesterday’s tea bag – not a good start.

Though can we ever label the start any other way than retrospectively?

When God and her were born.

Hmmm, is this how today is going to be?

I would like to put the song on, listen to it again, but I am in the kitchen, everyone is asleep.

The kitchen is not actually the problem there, the sleeping folk are… I have no right to wake them.

Right?

There is a deer in the meadow, she can see me, I her, neither of us are asleep.

Try imaging a place......

The day begins.

Here?

Before?

Way back?

Night/day where does one draw the line?

What does anything mean anymore?

I think I should start again, take a new tea bag, the tea tastes like water….

Old men, broken teeth, stranded....

I should vacuum that cobweb, wash up those plates, throw those mussel shells away, clean up that oil, hang up that towel, dress, take that stuff to the skip, finish digging that hole, finish that roof, clear that yard, cut those trees, tidy this table, sweep this floor, paint that wall.

Be a man.

But look at that sunlight settling around the closed window….