Through the Front Window
Leaves flicker in anticipation.
When they are gone,
Branches will sway and twist.
Everything is music, is dance.
Coloured lights will reveal on hills.
Bobbing, as boats in a bay,
Everything is art.
Reading the poetry and works of Czelsaw Milosz, Boris Pasternak and Anna Akhmatova over the next wee while to sustain the soul.
Taken up singing with a classical choir whilst in search of Jazz and Ella’s song book. I think the music’s coming back to Wool City.
Black mohair project almost at completion.
Poetry, music, love….what else do you need apart from a good soup for lunch. Broccoli and green lentil today.