when you say gray, do you mean grey, as in lady jane or earl as in tea. when you say grey, do you mean gray, as in mary, my friend? do you mean that we all come from different countries.



he has no knowledge of twigs, his mother had the secret, as do i. he has the knowledge of acting, it was quite a performance, as they were the same twigs

i have written of them before, now in code and symbol, i regard, that ‘again’ brings a sense of permanence, that familiarity does not always mean contempt , yet continuity. autumn comes round, and we keep the litte things, again

it has always been the same, water going down hill, thick frost of winter’s morning.   now the birds song at 4 am, bad news soften by dreams, new days.     it has usually been the same

about six years ago it was mentioned that the twigs should be the same do you remember?   later they taught me of the nature of working slow and sure so much can be done this way

yes i have help each month some years the tree man comes i fiddle every day. lifting logs. i may get stronger. it is abutting a church yard

more than that when birds sing.   when  water lowers, seeps away.   twigs are left, shattered .   farmers out, later neighbours chopping logs, stop to talk of other days, bled from a photo.   still a solitary thing

down the back lane there are puddles, huge amounts of water fell, flooded the abbey ruins.   branches blown , creaking twigs while rain stays off a while. she is a new walking partner, quite fast, no bother

cut deep,   while others are sleeping. we tread the way, from here to there, leaving a trail.             you may follow. cut round the cowslips, leave the twigs. step this way, it leads to the old apple tree