It is surely in the hour of the day that the moment lives and gives us more than we think that the moment we live in gives,
when in the passing of the scattering of the fleeing images, we see some sense of an ending,some order to finality.
I may be right or wrong,
and that is the long and short of it but I am caught up and intend to free flow with it,to whatever that finality may be.

I see the end as beginning and in beginning this end, I tend to muse on those thoughts that are sent to confuse and send one into a spin,it's a waltz on the fairground,
a merry go round,a wurlitzer,blitzer,blockbuster and the lustre is still there,
shine on sweet time.

And it's all in those moments we often forget,those what if we did's and we didn't do yet,
and the wish it was me's but it is if please,
dismiss the hours in a day,
and those moments in absentia would lead you into dementia where you would not know the real from the moments that feel,right or wrong,each day is as long as the rest,
take the best of them
knit them in gold and hold onto them,without them you're old and grey and the day is still there,
watching you stare at the blank and the bleak and next week?
Next week
another moment will seek you,may find you but what you do is what counts in the end.