Sunday, January 1, 2012


Walking up the mountain as ever, on the Sunday morning, mist left behind on the plain, leaves mulch twigs dogs sniffing shuffling running munching, perspiration in pace with the breath at each steeper bend…..
And the river river river inside “riverrun”, what I have always figured as a third eye, the voice speaking inside, going back to its own same track, the slurring, sliding, staring, stoning, stabbing and swaying conundrum that’s life.

1 comment:

Dave King said...

The last sentence is superb. Just superb!
A great New Year to you and yours.