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brutal bone gnaw withering cold… i set off on my bike across the tundra twixt b&q and bishopstone… still air, yet brrrr the wind chill from the velocity of my own whizzing, had to slow down to lessen the shriek shatter ice cream head
passed a poor little dead shrew on the path (i love the word shrew, none of that Roman flounce, a simple country saxon name befitting the creature)
no bigger than a teasel, i could empathise with its last words frozen to lips… ‘unloveable. too small. big cold’
lacking gloves, i’d gone with a stripey sock on each hand, zig and zag, berated by puppets as i pedaled
forever sartorially flummoxed by winter! summer it’s sandals, cargo pant shorts, a 10 year old moth eaten t-shirt, what could be better?!
nowadays it’s all about layers, chunky knit colourful sweaters… ‘cept i don’t have any… jumble sale strewn, lurid acrylics, something of the dressing up box… widow twanky at the tour de france
even the sea can’t be bothered, usually a hurly burly, giving it a ‘bit of this, a bit of that’
but today a half hearted lap, lap, the sound of someone gently closing a patio door
dreaming of a giant knicker elastic powered catapult to hurtle me to the tropics
rhythm of the seasons, means i can write the same post every year! and not worry about it
yet… headed home… thinking of a friend from the prairies
each leaf, every bush, frost licked to brittle needle diamonds
a tree with arms flung up, fractal, exultant, here midst the whisper beauty light

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