The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
FROM mindlove misery the intriguing suggestion that we use as inspiration a song from the decade of our birth. For me that's the thirt...
Wednesday 25 July 2012
Six weeks a student teacher,
first experience of a modern school,
light and airy, one to die for - and the thought
was never far away. Adjacent to
So every half-an-hour or so
this vista through the classroom's picture window:
a long procession and a puff of smoke.
Sometimes a puff of smoke and a procession.
Beyond the crematorium
another one, for pets.
This too, had its own (smaller) puffs of smoke.
And so I'd wonder,
the two puffs coinciding,
if perhaps they'd met,
the pet's soul and its human counterpart,
and if they had, what greeting would they get
when they would reach their final destination?