a new year
a new blog
the year of prophecy
the year ringing a dinging in peoples ears
in drunken end of year conversations
end of world fears riding
the coat tails of the imprisoned mind.
whispers of hopes
dreams of unity
promises a mystery.
the end becomes
a beginning .
he comes now on his bike
went off to fix Carols pump
tick tick the hot day passes
evening approaches with a cooling imagined
he will have stories to tell.
carole sees ufos when she is out in the wee hours tending her sheep
she is a shepherd not a farmer
hasnt a clue how to start the pump.
she draws pictures of the ufos she sees
describing the event with much flourishing of hands and sound effects
to me to john but not to everyone,
some people dont get it she says.
he collapses on the chair near me
smelling of petrol and oil and machine
exhausted hungry and pissed off
the pump wont go he says.
he grabs a beer eats the chips
I pat I hover what do I know of his day ?
she is an old friend
a most unusual person worthy of a book
a national treasure perhaps but that doesnt make it easy
to get on with her
on her backward rundown farm
where all the sheep have names
and all the lambs are hand reared
and tails bless their backsides.