Moon Rising, Gasholder Park
Myself I must remember.
I had gotten used to the dark mornings, and now times have suddenly changed and evenings become too long.
'Grant me an old man's frenzy'. Words tumble from a page, between the extremes of subjectivity and objectivity. I am the other myself.
Amorphous writings can rejuvenate the spirit. I am the other I see.
These magical entanglements of the imagination transform my thoughts and feelings into this day, this first thought, into words, written, on paper, with pen, in this light of day. A simple delight.
To write, to rejuvenate, to recollect. This gathering of words, collected. Remixed, remembered, forming, transforming, reforming. Old man lying by the side of the road, smiling, with the clouds, forming, deforming, melding, mingling, with the mist, the dew, the grass, my hands, shivering, my face, this acre.