A sideways look

Sunday May 6, 2007

Catches you all unawares, it does, when a new poem strikes. Sometimes the words just tumble out. Sometimes you have to listen hard and even then you get nothing on the writing pad but a few dots and dashes, like a missed intercept. And, of course, sometimes it’s entirely different.

This one happened this evening and is more about the listening than the tumbling.

A new poem
 
Somewhere
   in my pencil jar
   a
   new
   poem
   graphites.
 
I’d prefer it in
   a
   4H,
   lean,
   & sharp.

John Bailey
Somerset, 2007

Only thirty minutes away

Sunday May 6, 2007

I think I’m just about slept out now on day three of the big absence. Dolly gave me a prod this morning at about eight-thirty, wanting breakfast and a breath of air in the garden and I was happy to oblige. We weren’t active for long, though, and soon after our breakfasts we headed for the living room where I picked up my book–Allan Massie’s Caesar–and Dolly picked up her doze.

Tomorrow is a Bank Holiday but even so I’ll do my best to get things done that’ve been idling for ages now. Not least among them, a major house-cleaning session. Graham’s due home a week tomorrow and I want the place to be spick and span to greet him.

While I’ve had my head down the weather has turned and there was a drift of rain in the air this morning, with more forecast for the next few days. I can’t detect any drop in temperature, though I’ve donned sweat pants in place of shorts for comfort. It simply doesn’t feel right wearing shorts when the sun don’t shine.

Many of my favourite websites have been on go-slow or no-go today. I’ve done the routine thing like emptying caches and checking for adware (not a glimmer) and in all other regards my system’s slick and fast going on super-fast, so I don’t think it’s me. No problem. The last thing I need when coming out of the big sleep-in is to sit here for hours on end.

And that about brings us back to level pegging. Dolly is fine. I’m fine. Graham says he’s feeling a little aprehensive prior to the descent of the trannies and the start of the busiest week of the year, but I’ve every confidence he’ll pace himself and get through it. If not, the little silver Ford and I are only thirty minutes away.