When we wrote letters

I would write a letter again

Because once

When we wrote letters, putting pen to rectangles of thin paper, we would write down words in a format

Address ( where I live)

then , first few lines of politeness

Dear sweet friend

then news, sometimes good , maybe bad

inject humour, lighten the mood, ask about you

Dear friend what will it be

This is how we once spoke

Words on paper tucked into the neat envelope, your address, precious stamp, walk to the post box (red)

A week here a week there and then a reply dear friend

And this is how we spoke

I miss how we spoke

And seeing the letters on the floor, handwriting recognised amongst the bills, other letters

Replying to my questions, neat to start with, almost neat to the end then a scrawl for a signature

Fold it back into the envelope, into a box or a drawer

Safekeeping how we used to speak

How we used to talk

How we once were.

Petrichor

Open that door and it’s there.

The pitter of sound on the skylights

Warned

The endless rain

Soaking the plants, the ground, droplets balanced on leaves and then falling

Lines of rain

So straight

Then it stops and it’s quieter and all the glass on all the windows is blurred

Not droplets but silver grey smudges

Go outside and the smell is there

Damp earth

Petrichor

So small

Sometimes I am small

The stars are above

My eyes shut tight

So tiny

And the weight, the heaviness of the world is above me

Around me

I can feel small

Painting on board from last year

heron

a swift elegance

I envy the simplicity

the look

the endless legs

the heavy filght so close to the water surface

breathe

I awake and I cannot breathe

the weight is on my chest and the vice is clamped around me tight

I cannot breathe

I take in air and the sound whistles in my ears and

I want to cry out for more air

precious air

I can hardly breathe

Then I realise ‘I cannot breathe’ is a lie because I am still breathing

Its just not so easy

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA