I should be writing
Instead the writable words are a jumble
A tangle of chords
And wires
That I know I have to sort out
But have put it aside
The knotted mess
That lies at the back of my mind
Simple words come instead
Thanks
Yes
Mango Sorbet please
Are we going for a swim?
Pass the salt
What do you want for tea?
But nothing of the sort that will neatly fall together
To make a lyrical post
There are sounds
Like traffic in the distance
The fan has developed a rather irritating tick as it rotates around the ceiling
My feet are covered in a fine dusting of sand
Like icing sugar
That sprinkles over the stack of books that I’m currently working my way through
The heat outside steams
Turning lawns brown
And creating darkened sweat patches on shirts that walk by
I watch them from the window
But I’m not going to follow
It’s too hot to be going down to the beach
The middle of the day is sharp
Hot
Bright
Too many people
I prefer 5am and the quiet morning sea
Only one or two souls about
The pink sky above
Turning white caps
To spun sugar
And foaming sizzling salt
Spreading around my shoulders when I rise from a wave
That has just thrown me through a somersault
Left me gasping
And grinning
Wading out to let another one send me hurtling back in
Why people sleep in and miss it is a mystery
But the middle of the day,
The middle of the day is comfy pillows
Ticking ceiling fans
Books
And an endless supply of cold grapes
Writing?
Hmm
I can’t make the words lay down flat upon the page
My thoughts have hit the doldrums
No wind to fill their sails
I’m drifting
My inner ocean
Becalmed
The depths dark and cool
Even the fish have ceased to dart about
What a miracle
To have a quiet mind
At last
