thrum of dishwasher
lunch of leftovers
many too many
biscuits
and cups of tea
but in between
there are lazy hours
and books
expansive inner world
of memories
triggered by the writer’s
stories
perception jumping
from page to herstory
my story. black and white
to colour
this gap in time
a space. between
soft greys and
coming greens
a time to
change. pace
and watch a snail
trail on a square
window pane
a blur of dulled
consciousness
from pain meds
mirroring
condensation
on mid winter
dawn’s triple
glazed thrall
sudden gusts
of black dust
motes of
starlings
or small
songbirds
burst forth
from spidery
sycamore skeletons
waving bony
branch fingers
across the
gentle soft
grey sky
with luminous
liminal spaces
watched from
inside a
hazy cloud
of codeine
and caffeine
by bright globes
of whitest
geraniums
startling
against
these winter
hibernating
greens
I am quite tempted to leave this year’s tree in its ‘naked’ state, a symbol of Winter’s rest and retreat rather than an allusion to all that glitter and gluttony of our often over-done festival time
But I expect in a few hours I will relent and look for the tangle of wires and bulbs and the dusty box of baubles in the store room
donegallizdoyle 