Thursday, 18 April 2013

Maybe


4am, I was listening to the roar of high tide. Wild phrases surging onto land, washing into heaped stones. The dawn chorus sounded frantic, wind-wrecked, ecstatic. Rush hour traffic was outplayed by sea surge and gale. I opened the curtains. Gold on blue. 

I've been waiting. Too much time indoors through a cruel Winter has left me ragged round the edges. My creativity has been a caged bird, reluctant to sing. 

The back door sways wide on the hinge. I let the garden run through the house, muddy feet, leaf litter, wild sounds that call me, wonder if maybe.....this is Spring.