Monday 29 September 2014

Yet a F- Hero.

The morning is cold.

Sunlight struggles through the leaves that surround the house where someone is sleeping. The doors of the house are open, the sleeper’s bed is near the door but the sleeper is deep in dreams and deep in the warmth of the covers.

The house is blue.

The sky is blue too, not the same because the blue of the van is fading slowly with time, the blue of the sky is fading as the autumn takes grip.

Next to the house stands an oak tree.

The oak tree is old -not as ancient as the sky, which has been here forever - but it is older than the house. It was here before the house was imagined.

Acorns fall from the tree.

One of the acorns lands on the roof of the house; the roof of the house is tin.

The noise almost wakes the sleeper and he turns.

His breath condenses as it rises into the morning air.

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