time is limited these days. those one admired in youth devastate us now.   can we know all things, we only went twice ?   the back road was littered, rather blustery.   today   clouds blow in, leaves crake.

i took the shorter route this morning.



sbm

we have a few.



we had a storm.



one broke, we bought another.



the assistant suggested house insurance.



sbm.

use the word, good.



it makes more sense.



to me.



radio four,

was only on for company.



sbm.

water flows down this valley. wind blows

round our houses.i have said it before.yet



seems that those who should know better,

talk of gods, may judge the             people .





live in remote places.



between mountain, sea.      the land becomes



dry.



this arid land.



sbm.

there are moments when we have no words.



moments when we stutter repeatedly. nerves

kick in.



there was a time far ago.       when we slurred.



when we suffered.

we threw the crutch away.



sometimees we fall over.



still.



sbm.

work is steady, absorbsion as if the outside world is ended.    looking up find it has not.





stitching can be rhythmic, and never mind the capitals.             other words confound.



birds beat the window, damp now,                                       little feathers hoping for food.



now we  descend into darkness.



so you think i wear a cotton dress, while all round is storming,                      i do not.



i wear pyjamas.



sbm.

warmer now with rain.there is a nasty bend.

eric and phillip named it so.                we slow.

see

the snowdrops drift.



turn to meifod, feeling the way, note the

camp, the little hideout just up the lane

past the coach park.



some places  so unremakable we shine.



a pleasant day with pickles.



sbm.