Saturday 1 January 2022

Oft Yonder.

There is a light, yonder distant. 

It shines in the night, deceiving on into thinking there is a house, distant yonder.

But there is only forest.

There is a sound distant near, a kettle settling to the boil.

It bubbles, it roars, deceiving one into thinking that tea is in the offering.

It isn’t.

Brussel sprouts need cooking.

There is a thought, often distant.

It dances, it spins.

Deceiving one into thinking that there is something beyond the horizon.

There isn’t.

This is all there is.

editors's note - this post has been time delayed, future scheduled. when i get back from celebrating The New year in a New Place i will change the colour of this border.



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