lift the cotton, look again.

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.

we were there early

and so were the others

with snacks and extreme tiredness

from shopping,

unused to,

we live in the country.

dropped crumbs

impossible not to

snacks all crunchy for mouth satisfaction.

after we left, when all went quiet, the mouse came

they screamed that there was an accident waiting to happen on the stairs

handbag, not fit for any purpose than
delight and design.

while the world is turning there is a small hope to always return home

duck egg blue
the ironmongers in town
at three seventy nine

we can walk there and back or there
and bus back you see

is the little things that excite, even
in the height of summer, low look
for seeds, small flowers studded
in hedgerows.