I hang out the washing, impatiently pegging to save time. Then I sit, fritter and daydream, watching the wind toss the duvet of my sleepless night, pillow cases bellow in panic attack, before the sudden lashing rain insists I scamper outside.
Elements changing Thrashing meandering thoughts Nature’s clue unsaid
Contemplate the rain, this fleeting season, changes I can do nothing about. Sitting, watching, listening; the hanging drops on vacant washing lines and leaves, all testimony to nature, that the laws of men may come and go, yet eternal truths stand starkly before us: Our choice to ignore. The harder I try the less I get in return. But the gentle rush of rain brings it back, the raucous calls of crows sitting in out in shedding trees; the clutter of my mind stands between what is me and my self.
The gentle rush of rain breaks the silence, soon joined by the cat lapping — unseen. Then both are gone; I watch the miles thick cloud parading overhead, dark autumn leviathans shunting in from the west. Yes, sometimes the silence gets to me, it isn’t what I crave. A silent mind is creative, some say, then how is darkness a friend?
The sodden flag won’t fly in the rain no matter which way the wind blows They’ve hung it upside down without thought or care except to state some kind of patriotism their piece of earth which they can still call home
I could tell them I suppose let them get to know their pedantic neighbour who only speaks to complain like all the other tethered goats staring blankly out at swelling puddles which spoil the well tended lawns