lunch on tuesday

Three
months on
(how is that
possible?), a cycle ride
through Lammas Land, Coe Fen,
the allotments, Empty Common, Vicar’s Brook,
down Long Road, turning off
at the hospital entrance,
up to Outpatient
Clinic 7
to
wait,
again, near
the magazine rack
that now has nothing
on it to prevent the
spread of influenza, for a doctor
to tell me that all
should be okay, at
least for the
next three
months.

rebuilding sacred spaces to
resonate in the
here and
now

pulling
the strings
that move me
the direction of
the next
performance

Nothing could be more delicious
than apple crumble made
with apples from
the backyard
tree.

There’s
something about
stepping back and
looking over one’s life
that invites intoxication and
makes it difficult
not to
laugh.

Although,
technically, a
piece of paper
which states you’ve achieved
what you know you’ve achieved
is not necessary, it
can still be
nice to
hold.

How
you can
go from surgery
in the morning to
following me about the house
in the afternoon as if
nothing ever happened is
rather inspiring to
a mere
human
like me.

Okay,
hear this:
there shall be
no more dilly-dally frolicking
until first drafts are finished!

Early morning walks into town,
dreaming up trivial errands:
elaborate excuses to
cross the
river.

throwing
away the
to-do lists so
that the organic
day might
bloom