Tuesday, May 04, 2021

A pale fire


A surprising dust storm in mid-afternoon. The dust whistles through gaps in the windows, rises elegantly from the dried-out playing fields, makes my hair tangled, blows into my eyes. I gather rocket and salad leaves. On the way back, this pale fire fluttering in and out of existence.  Wisps of seeds from a tree around it, ghost-like, perhaps forming the beginnings of a shroud. By evening the flower would have closed and the clam stillness of the evening returned but for the moment the earth is alive. 
 

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