a bit of a story, automatic writing...

18 October 2017 12:00 AM

Standing in the arched doorway, the roof is gone, the trees overhead seem to unit in their attempt to shield me from the elements, leaves float down into the room, and later send those messages scurrying through the door and open windows, this is a home past tense, and would that be a joy instead of a bother, the table is set in the kitchen checked tablecloth, the plates are white and the silver is old, clunky reliable ware, the light through the window makes me glad to be alive, I sit down at one of the table, cut into the bread and eat the butter, the man is bringing the donkey across the field, let ting him graze here and there, the cattle coo, and buck against each other, all in fun, territorial dispute this is MINE, and the man goes "tsk," and the cattle fall in line, they like the sound of his voice, she puts up the washing on the clothes line, the boy with the black hair swept up on top of his head it is either long, or it is the wind that ruffled his feathers so to speak, he's got that old man's sweater on again, and pulls up his knapsack, over his shoulder, his boots clunk against the gravel, he has a long way to go, the bus was late today, so he had to leg it to school, couldn't turn around and go home, his mum wouldn't have it, he sighs, and picks up an apple to give to the horse that's stuck its head out over the wall, it's time for shedding, his coat is in tatters this horse, but he's still the lad's favorite, and they leg it towards the town, maybe he wouldn't be late for school this day...