On my way to buy a morning paper #85

Squealing of gulls
winding of well-handles
needing oiled.

Quick-changing dawn

In the time it took to pour a pint of orange squash

the sun made pink mile-long scarves of grey

which lasted long enough for me to take two mouthfuls.

In the time it took to buy a morning paper

red-fleeced postman who lives on our estate

collects his waiting colleague and disappears.

On my way to buy a morning paper #37

Not a day for walking to the river, and a bit bigger than a small stone, but this true tale was what I posted on Six Sentences this morning:

I’ve seen him, not quite daily, but often enough over getting on for nine years now, coming round the corner with first three then two Welsh springer spaniels.

Maybe five years ago we started to say ‘Good morning’ – no smiles and his gruffly abrupt from beneath a ragged grey moustache.

Five weeks ago when warmth retreated back to icy, he commented on the change in weather and I on his brown woolly hat, not seen through all the snow.

Since then maybe a couple more laconic comments on the day.

In today’s unpleasant northern wind and icy sleet I said it was a day to stay at home and he said he’d be required to go to Morrisons for shopping, then added  ‘and I’ve five paintings yet to finish.’

And my view of him was instantly rejigged.

On my way to buy a morning paper #30

Sycamore leaf
sere and somersaulted
scuttles across the tarmac road
brown-red of crab paste

On my way to buy a morning paper #29

Two days in succession

a discarded cotton handkerchief

one blue edged, the other red,

Never ever spotted one before

no explanation

And another firing

Two shots ring out
and a pair of would-be joyous magpies
take the pessimistic view