so the falling days,
end today, winter waits,
and the songs, and words,
tunes are all to warm us,
and hold us safe

let us look at things, differently.

often, we do things, no one ever sees.
that is you and me. two of us
dancing on the sand.

it came
and went,
quickly.

do not wish to hide
do not wish to run
to take the boat and steer
to take the hiatus i fear

the power house rears its head again,
pouring images down
like rain.

adrift, will the sky at last explode, or will this hate
continue pointlessly, for  thousand thousands years.
numbers that cannot describe each particle of pain.

decide which
petulant shadow hides
integrity.

honesty abounds yet the flags
will find us.

went to blaenau in the rain
you may google that so best
add ffestiniog to the name

from the windows saw,

the softest steam morning

on the mountain.

the promise of another

day in wonderland.

old story remembered  from the beach
that warm afternoon while all were playing
relaxing
the hunted tried not to sleep
there
for fear of being robbed or found

the mountains here

a home, a refuge plain

and simple things, the ordinary

become as sacred in our life

the clouds waiting as you
say
there are many to fascinate
give them names and fluff
becomes fact
a place one can recognise

there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea


the sea that is rising

was
the dream

the cloud
the quarry

water flows down this valley

wind blows round our houses

most of it works now,
memory plays a part,
when we look
to the mountain.

have a photo here of up the valley
where they used to stook the harvest

all the family out working the fields

in the evening it came cooler
for rest

the sounds
softer.
once the day is dawn, the door is open, face the sky, all
comes well some days.

talk goes on all day, about the heat,
the rain and drizzle,
no thoughts on the shipping
forecast. words red, remembered.

the bird, the boy, the machine,
there is only air between.

a challenge to describe   these trees as suggested

the gentle good,  dawel disgyn,  little time

left, nor funds for flying.

.so we move forward differently once again.

.while you remain in mind.

some thing is changing here,
so slight it can hardly be
noticed.

yet it has been.  a feeling,
came with the light rain .

the quietness

all things are changing

while in the studio a series
commenced
marching in time
across the board

at dusk the view magnetic

sometimes you know
i have no clue as to what
is occurring
here

or over there

find it challenging

and disappear

( notes on darkness) more fairy lights is all that is needed, radio music, and padding about really….

did you find a pin there, did you pick it up and stick it?   did you stay safe, wrap the shawl around and hold    it   close?        did you see my life breaking, bring me pins for mending? …

drawing the child with found fabrics
watching the marks come good, no dots
intended
yet they came
without warning

they waved and smiled
i watched the sewing
i watched the stars
the seating all arranged

fear
of this and that
of nothing in particular
that no one else  will
understand

as he left the garden
he said they may be working nearer home now.

dry he wore the white dress
though
his hair curled damply

we drew him
we painted him

he is taller now & remains
much the same

lady on the bus told me her sister kept lots of soap and what did I think.

I says she sounds like me.

courage to walk away
from objects that irritate
our eyes, to eat another way,
with snakes and camphor oil.

you know what i mean

shall we rescue the drowning where we can ;
record the names?

you thought we were broken
yet we watch you solidly, bravely like joan
with just one comma throughout

snakes figure a bit here since
i saw that one in the
famous old painting with a egg
in its mouth

she said she liked the stories

except I did not tell them
i never tell you much
nor all of it

there are bits left to fill in
yourselves

there have been a couple
of incidents but now she
is in disguise
with different
hair

little world here of characters and stories none of them famous nor commendable.

it was mentioned that some people don’t know what royalty is and he agreed and said
what is it then?

she was drawn again yesterday with her sibling

though it did not look quite right so

shall i tear the sister off?

seems that you are trouble, is that correct?
yes.

it seems you need to let the birds sing

became slightly nervous looking up
at it
retreated to the studio

is a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,only just a theory,

yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

so here on the night watch,
all is quiet , no birds sing.

touched by the small thing,
softly, we drew together,
with words, and gestures
in air, in mind.

told them about joan and they said they had to go, get home
later I heard they liked her despite the startled look
she was drawn again yesterday

so joan will be
revered

if the pencil slips
she will remain
ignored

day of small things,
slowly steadily worked
as we rest the dust motes,
shine as gold.

the air moves
on my skin.

i turn
look past the curtain

see the face again

framed.

yesterday I watched a documentary
about monkeys

light came, we saw the green ness of it all.                          we live in the country.

yet when
she said my friend looked pretty
&
that I smelled nice
I sagged a little.

later that day
i found a message
request
from a soldier in the usa
holding a puppy & a rose
calling me a beauty

tell us things, take us without consent. there are no records