Everyday people

He moves slowly in circles around the pool of water, reflections lengthen as the sun hits its stride into the depths of the sea, up and down,slow and steady his tired arms move, fresh and newly pebbled rectangle of concrete and above the  bright shining blue calm skies, refreshed and alive as he watches his days flitter past him. Scrubbing sides a week old, water fresh and clean and he moves about in his rhythm, up and down…does he wonder what it’s all for?

A square shell of a sauna lies on its side like a beached whale upon the grass beneath the tree, weeks gone by as the grass below dies away, fading into a pale shade of green turned white, useless and neglected, a piece he bought for her, to ease her pain, but she never used it…unused and rotting away, decomposition makes its way subtly in…like everything unused tends to do.

The small four legged mop of white barks incessantly, come in I would think the translation would be, yet the old man continues on…he mows, he trims, he blows away the wisps of what will now die because it’s Saturday at four and that’s what always happens…and she will remain within the confines in the cool air waiting, for that’s what she does, with her kind smile and humble ways, her aches hold out for his entrance, welcoming I hope.

I am not there. I can only imagine what goes on beyond the hedge as lives move day to day. He surviving the big C and she arthritic and waiting, they groove on like clockwork, tick and tock and time continues rocking past them and I wonder if they ever wish for more time than what stands before them, I wonder if they spoon together as they settle in to sleep so very thankful for this everyday routine.


We move through like invisible ghosts

Haunted by the thoughts that speak without voice

Meandering wind like whisperings

In the thick syrup night of darkness

Heavy air pressing down

Consuming our souls left unattended.

We wander through searching

Watching those that move past hurriedly

As if there is fear to look too deeply,

To stare into the mirror of selves they may see

Too afraid to know that truth they’ve built

Like castles on sand that will wash away

If they only could see.

The coolness moves in slowly yet welcomed

And time itself stands still though speeds by

A minute passes, a spectre of then

And we strive to be here and now in this minute

And not a second more or less

As we sway in the breeze that stirs the leaves

Turning in circles our minds move without us at times

And the season of the witch comes

With clouds that hide the moon above

Flickering candles draw us to gaze

Into the heart that beats steady,

And deep in the lives we lead drifting through the now

Into a midnight dance of seasons.

Photo found on the Internet