Plate

On our table that morning,
A vessel for dark sweet cherries.

 That afternoon, for bread; oil dipped and
Delivered mouth to mouth like a benediction.

That evening, slammed down empty.
Not thrown - not quite, but almost.

Tonight now, it rests on the shelf
Like a pale moon, a memory of sun

And on the new morning, flowers.
Sad flowers will come.

Dream a little dream...


I read something today that said we spend one third of our lives asleep.  At first this seemed a terrible waste of time, but then I pondered the dreams I've had and how exciting they were.  I have to say I've enjoyed some of my dreams more than I've enjoyed the waking day that followed them.  It makes me sorry that I remember so few now that the alarm clock rudely disturbs them - it makes me wonder what I've missed.  Imagine if everytime you went on holiday, the entire memory was wiped on the plane journey home.

On asking my friends and aquaintances, I discovered that many of them are in bed by ten, or even nine o'clock, whereas I am rarely in bed before two am.  This gives me roughly four hours more awake time than them, or more than a whole day in every week!  What do I do with this time?  Sometimes the strangest things, and sometimes I see or hear the strangest things:

• a family of foxes sprawled on the lawn
• The first snow of the season in the empty streets
• a trio of what I still think were UFOs gliding unnoticed by
• a meteor shower 
• a frog screaming like a little girl when I took it from the cat
• a boy running over my car from boot to bonnet
  

Anyway.  Just a first post. It's 2.10 and time to pack up