Aloha from Haywain-Ho!
Attenuated morning endeavour, the cringe and cower again fear I: domestic interventions such as the dilate regard of cathedral candles, floppy hats in white shadow, crows carrying brickbats, and luxury items for the forthcoming dearth zone cornucopia, The Flanging of the Goat.
Became a crumpled jot…
`The harbour is sparser, many moored up and battened down, some dwellers remain. Seek berth in more sheltered waters south along the isthmus, motor boat ashore when needed. Low ebb these past two days, deeper safer waters called for to avoid ending up aground on the silt banks in the winter storms. A sheltered mooring to the south. Sail cross wind for a while and check the lie of the land to the west, there are many natural coves and inlets. Thins will be tight, but with thrift and clear and prompt address foreseeable difficulties will not prove insurmountable. Vigilance is essential…`
So it halts, dropped or discarded; nearby broken bottle? Lookaround. Nobody – just a weird old dame standing staring out seaward, profiled by a grey jag. Sniff. No perfume on the scrap. Do I dance the excuse me with her? She still stands there, still. Fluster and dither, twiddle and twitch. Feel shifty,like I look to passers-by: shifty, dodgy, in need of wee-wees. Good job there aren’t any passers-by. She still looks out to sea, beyond the bar to Greenwich.
Uncertainty is my gift in abundance, and it will, in good time, play its part; but, when it does, it shall be firmly and directly applied, condoning and permitting no vacillation, procrastination, or shilly-shallying. Mark these words well!
The morning magic is now well dulled and bluntened, the sharpness of unpolluted precious time once again traduced by my principal problem, other people, whom, while admittedly useful and entertaining in their place, are an drain of energy; killing time with them is killing time meant for work, purposeful endeavour, and for this timing is crucial. It is a givers and takers situation and, just then, my measure was registering a marked depletion, a squandering had occurred: nothing to show for it, so far.
So I jammed around in plain g, running her tune round in my ears. The Tummy is still irksome, even after a feed, so what is it? ought one it split off like the other bits, put at armslength, not acceptable unconditionally?
Mama’s little baby loves shortening bread…
`Excuse me, have you seen a crumpled attenuated note in a man’s hand?`
I was entrapped.
Three crows appear
Now where was that dream from…?
The Avocado 