The gap in the red tin roof

That shows the pink dusk

Creeping through

And the white patchwork lattice

Running past

Wonky drainpipe

Stained glass

I save it all in my minds eye

This comfortable relic of time passing

As gently true

as a D’Arcy Doyle painting

Waiting for my husband to wrap up a yarn and get in the car, my eyes drank in the sight of the old house across the road. the house is memorable, this poem probably not but sometimes you just have to drop a pin in the moment.