Out-sprinting the ‘blinged-up with a pocket-watch’ March Hare this is—without revision but with the obligation I feel I must.
Just here, in the moment forcing self like a shrouded celery to break out into the light with something creative. The thought fox and inkling sylph have long eloped and took the night with them. Oh, they took some honey and little money as that’s all they could wrap it up in: one of those new small five pound notes, you know—the plastic type. I figure the remnants of that mellifluous glob of sweet stickiness will wipe clean mind once its bulk has been consumed. Built to last this new money, not biodegradable, unlike us (us rotters) nor the aforesaid wild animal/spirit relationship. That’ll peter out too; they’ll scrap over such a scrap as the scrap of honey—and, given inflation, only one of them will be able to afford to get the bus back. There one of them is, look, stranded on a bench by the roadside puzzling over what happened to the boat, the other, be it fox or sylph waving ‘buh bye’.
The light, yes the light, back to it; not blinding just ample to shrink the pupils to pinholes and sharpen one’s take on the immediate. I didn’t realise by the way that in the absence of reading glasses one can still see things close up by making a tiny hole with two forefingers and two thumbs and peeping through. A handy, handy hint there, a digital aid that’s technology free. See. Did you have a go and see? Useful come the apocalypse eh.
Celery is the same species as rhubarb I surmise and I can’t be bothered to go google the truth. Actually the truth is that I can be bothered but I don’t wish to be. I’ve googled far too much of late, OD’d on info; overloaded self and consequently soaked little of it in or up. It’s so easy to come by now, knowledge—it’s losing its power.
Maybe I’ll be less corrupted.
Celery, no rhubarb, get with the programme museless man. You’ll find some wild here : 53.438530, -2.307520 . A lot further away now from where I live alas, it’s best harvested in May—be wild yourself, bunny-hop the fence and slice you some stalks.
I have to go, something unplanned has come up.
Okay 1 revision to the above if you can spot it—and a little deciphering. This was a rapid release, a sit-rep that I guilted myself into, an excuse put out to masquerade as a reason for not posting. I’ve moved recently leaving, family member behind, to smaller house but in a more idyllic setting. Presently saddened by this but I am adjusting to the change and building a writer’s shed-a-proper as a consolation. There’s a heck of a lot of hours to put into getting my little (ocd appeasement) world just so. But once complete—watch me go.