Monday, 23 March 2009

Push and pull

Watching the painting of the sky in progress, the wind is wild. I hide behind a high wall as papery whelk cases tumble over me, like snowballs thrown into the air for the sake of seeing them fly. 

The wind pushes me home. Drags me from an urge to doze in the sun for an hour.

I take it as a sign. The story is waiting.