Tag: Journal
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27 November: Journal
27 November:It’s still morning. Time slows when there’s no external noise. No radio. No telly. No talking. No music … except for the shallow sound of his breathing as he reads the Sunday’s paper. Sunday always becomes Monday, if you judge the date by a newspaper. Saturday is thicker than weekdays. Sundays less so than…
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26 November: Journal
25 November:I’m sitting in my chair. Reclined. Fingers locked across my lap. Eyes closed, and headphones isolating me from vague noise. I’m listening to I Walk With Ghosts by Scott Buckley. Violins in deep centred waves. Spiral rebirth – I fall into a shallow sleep. A shallow breath. Strings drawing out my every thought into…
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22 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
21.09.23 (563 words: reading time 3 minutes) 09:57Cows find their way on to fields where they shouldn’t. It is life beyond language. 10:00Hay stacked in blocks of henges. The next farm, rolls ambered disks. Like fallen moons. Grounded on a field. With cows. Wind haunts the air. 10:20Birch. Curvaceous green in the wind. Air is…
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20 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
19.09.23 08:10The rain is a tantrum. It’s dashing itself against the window as if it were a ship on the rocks. He’s staring at it. It will pass, he says. You sound like Nostradamus, I tell him. Or Moses parting water. 08:15He’s still standing at the window. Looking. Rain and sea. Wind in syllables. This…
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17 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
16.09.23 07:50 (Münster, Germany)Breakfast: Birchers (overnight oats) made with yogurt and blueberries. It sticks to your ribs. He says, It’s also stuck on my t-shirt. 08:10“Oh, look,” he says, “there’s a young person! What’s he doing here?” I tell him, He’s probably selling walking sticks. It’s off-peak rates again. Pensioners on the move. Come September,…
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21 August: Spontaneity
The sun has found me, its warmth strikes my face. I half expect God to say, “Lift up your face,” but all I hear is bird song. And it’s enough. This is my daily walk. Footpaths. Encroaching brambles. Shoe laces that won’t stay tied; it’s a gradual undoing. I’m undone by a newfound appreciation for…
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2 August: The July Journal 21.7.23
Date: 21.7 Over therein the midst of wind turbines,where a field of greenis glad of rain,and a line of treesform strokes on the horizon,stand a few Charolaise facingaway from the weather. It’s Van Gogh.His fields,an infinity of sunflowers,heavy heads, downcastbrown and drying in the sun.His fieldsbaled hay, bronzed and amberunder coiffed clouds. A farmer.His wife.A…
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9 July: Four Days Away
9 July (Home Again)moss is growing on the roof,my fingers are stainedwith the scent of berries,and the laundry is dryingoutside in the rain. 7 July (Traffic on the M4)The road is wetbut still warm to the core,a long-haul driver sitsdrowsy, tyres humming.The day strums andthe night’s dream-haunted,a vagrant’s song is in his head.And the road…
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3 May
The ferns not quite unfurled. The hostas cupped open for rain yet to come. Two apple trees – one sans blossom, one a white blizzard of buzzing bees. The photo is mine. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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for Twiglet #126
We’re On the Old Road to Spokane I’m 10. It’s a Saturday morning. Early. Before the worst of the heat sets in, and turns the I-90 into peanut butter. By noon, the road shines like ice. Dad says it’s a mirage. I say it’s water. Mom says she has a sick headache. My sister’s sitting…
It's Still Life 