Thursday 7 November 2013

The Flotsam and the Jetsam - Echoing Questions.

I’ve only been gone two days, forty-eight hours at most but everything has changed.

The cat no longer recognises me, a rose has opened and the trees are not the same.

Colour rests where before it lay unseen.

The air is charged, different, the sky not the same.

The house is empty.

Sheets flutter on the line, they will smell of spring.

Though the morning smelled of rain, sea and rosemary.

There is a note on the table, it was not there when I left; least it’s not the same one.

The other is there, upside down at the other end of the page.

There are no echoes, only questions.

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