A walk in the park ...

We gathered in the park, all eight hundred of us, pushing wheelchairs and shepherding darting youngsters in an Autumn afternoon.  We gathered by the stage and warmed up, orange lanterns raised aloft.  And then we walked ….

The rain came, but we walked, wheelchairs covered over to protect the precious charges within.

The finish line and a soggy cardboard box full of medals for everyone - those who walked, those who pushed, those who looked out on the world where they are loved and cherished … if but for a short, short time.

We gathered, all of us, on a walk together.

Season

I am the season cut, cut, cutting - I am a dawn.

I am the season, cut, cut, cutting … I am the lamb 

drawn

I am the season, cut, cut cutting

No more come dawn.

Once more into the breach, dear friends ...

Season

spring ...

The light comes pure through fresh-salted sky.

Two figures dance, enchanted, across the wind-whipped, sand-strand beach. They seek out private places - youthful tenderness conceals their innocent but hungry naivety.

I am boy. A rock pool, warm and welcoming. I call to you.

I am girl.  I am soft seaweed, flowing through channels of spume.

Two sets of footsteps alone and entwined in the sand.

summer ...

Hot shards of light fall from the full-day sun  Come watch the curious dance. The steps still entwined embrace a new pattern between. Another set of steps, then another, then another.

They dart, this way and that, chasing in and out of the sandbanks.

I am man.  A rock pool, hard and black.  I crawl to you.

I am woman.  Barnacled.

Five paths, criss-crossed and labyrinthine mesmerising.

autumn ...

The sky is lowing gold, sinking deep to the waves and here two sets of footsteps stand for a moment frozen in contemplation of the shoreline.

But one set returns ....

winter

I am the wave.  I wash all the footsteps away .. in love.

A new term starts

Notting Hill Carnival in Dub

The last of the films from my sabbatical visit to London.  Notting Hill Carnival in glorious black and white .. which just about says it all!

My fresh adventure

If I were
the falling ball
and racked
racing
down the lane
would my adventure start here?

Locked eyes
and braced to the light
of a broken
fast
fresh start

I still remember
your citric-note
teenage
perfume
as I watch
the ball
cannon down
toward ...

A fresh adventure
racked
and waiting