Walking today...
when the swans flew over my head like prehistoric creaking flying machines, blotting out the January sun. I collected kindling in an derelict wood where the floor mulched and squelched with years of toppled trees and unchecked growth while black funghi on ancient bark sprouted with dark mossy hills of inky poison.
I have words and words colliding within me... stacked up and up, with no air traffic control to guide them safely and gently down.
