it is a gift, the friend ship, the kiss
on each cheek with out avoidance.
it may seem continental, yet we are
dolgellau. it is a meeting place, yes,
near the church. there are similarities,
yet this is not a metaphor.
we met at ten, talked of family,
one hour led to two, and overstepped
the parking time.
later in the garden, i thought of you.
i cut the paths and thought of you too.
it is a…Continue
becomes larger as time moves on.
it started early, with greek poetry,
the radio, which played all day.
he says i like a challenge, and
can certainly rise to the occasion.
cutting in proves concentration, happily
painting everything white.
geese flew over, ann messaged to
say her swallows returned.
the day moved slowly, and i find
the memories are not as you may think.
i have new ones.
are suggested quickly, no time taken to
utter the words. yet. it will take a while
to order, to plant, it will all be lovely,
unless bitter words entice despondency,
low spirits from a loss of hope, of courage.
we shall carry on until the paint runs out,
then we shall clean the old rugs., order two hundred
he often has good ideas.
yesterday was sky and small dresses,
all work, some worry due to tiredness.
yesterday the green house came, different
than expected, yet a treat none the less.
sometimes we miss the hyphen, the proper
format, we are not as expected either. yet
we does our best, sits in the suns, and plan
to hang frocks in trees.
the sky is pinc this morning.
not a typo, pinc is welsh for pink,
as i have said before.