A hammer knocks a nail, rythmically, further off a radio, a saxophone perhaps, the truck from West Indies Oil climbs the hill in low gear, laughter behind a curtain, the rooster crows and then another.
"Nice yellow, a worker says."
That's right, I wear my yellow skirt.
I'm not looking for stories. I'm just the one who adds a little sound to this monday morning with my flipflop flipflop.
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ReplyDeleteI love vapour trails ...
ReplyDeleteThe Sun descends towards the hills,
And leaves a sky of cobalt blue;
A resonating colourwash,
On which to paint some thoughts of you.
And faint diffusing vapour trails
Upon the canvas drift away,
To find that place and live again
In moments from another day.
Thank you so much for the poem!
ReplyDeleteBlogs permit us to change a line when we like - I would have done that with the title of two of books, if it was possible..
You're welcome.
ReplyDeleteThere's sun and a bit of occasional rain here in England ... and lots of chatter about 'The Wedding' !
... which book titles would you have altered ?