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Archives for September 2017

A murmur, feint, and rising nicely.

The idea had just sprouted. It needed tender care and considerate encouragement.

Look at that! So many were smiling brightly.

Hitting a ball, shouting encouragement, and showing off sublime technique.

We all became champions.

Everyone wins.


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We are wasting no time in getting down to dreaming.

We are going directly to those strange conundrums, mysterious connections, the swirling beauty and the thinly veiled identities of night’s fantasy land.

In between times, we have breakfast with old friends in ancient castle-dominated villages, so early in the morning that the mists look permanent as if they will never clear.

We are done with the facts and figures, the forms and the schemers.

We are open to anything.

Then, we will consider and be wise.


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Beach and brass.

Polished, sandy and stormy.

A chair stretched to share between two people.

They waited.

At last, from behind a counter, a voice told them to enter the next room.

Inside was a vision of beautiful design, comfort, and thoughtfulness.

They had paid for a service but they received a dream.


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The images were dissolving from our memories like ice thrown into a pot of boiling water.

We can’t accept the idea that they were not important, if so surely we would have remembered?


We felt good, really good, so whatever it was must have been worthwhile and positive.

New pictures appeared. These seemed to come from changes in the weather that day. Mist, fog and blue lights in the sky.

Life seemed full of swirls and fanfare.

The clocks work again now, and we are serenaded with the sound of chimes, bells, and gongs.

We are a confederation of villagers and ocean-traversing sailors.


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It was hot and sticky.

That applied to us and to the treacle pie.

It was, without doubt, the best jazz solo ever played.

Of course, that was her opinion.

But this time we couldn’t find anyone who disagreed.

I always listen to her opinion when I eat treacle pie.


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