5am: the birds are shouting, barking –
so I might as well get up –
the bupp of the teabag in the sink
hot tea in my tummy
blackbirds on rooftops
and treetops chirp out to one another
carve up the territory, triangular chunks
noisey noisey noisey
a black flash the length of the garden
a shrub-hugging flight path
June/July, these days are longer –
more outside hours, more awake
and, same as the birds,
I don't like to stay still for long
~ ~ ~
Only a minor whirlwind
not enough to make the news
but it blew debris everywhere
like I'd left the window open
or forgotten to close it
and draw the curtains
as if I should
I had all these letters and postcards lying around
and a good number got scooped up/swept away
which is regrettable,
but these things compare and contrast
and on balance, it's OK
I'll put my finger in the air
– see which way the wind blows