a house so quiet

the creaking of heating pipes

outside the sun shines

petrochemicals

filthy invisible clouds

my mother coughing

rising too early

a distant dog barks, a dove

calls, I still my breath

broken dreamless sleep

thoughts weaving through tangled webs

worry and regret

a day of writing

a story that will not work

a shredder that does

a valley called Hope

we find a wool shop open

so many colours

one muddy puddle

beautiful white fluffy dog

heavenly match

the simplicity

of toast and tea and writing

meditatively

old stone walls hand-built

drape the land, an ancient wind

moaning through the grass

this next stage of life

after those long middle years

feels like a rebirth