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poliphiloThe day of the royal funeral dawns orange with a smudge of rainbow in the western sky like an angel's thumbprint.
Then the clouds move in.
I listen to Gregg Braden and John Robertson talking about how we stand between two worlds, one falling apart around us, the other struggling into the light. Never, they agree, has there been so much opportunity.
I walk down to the sea. The streets aren't empty. People are about- mostly people with children.
As I stroll the Inner Voice comes online again and offers me some doggerel verse which I accept reluctantly, knock into shape and decide to call "Threnody".
Isn't it pretty? Isn't it fine?
It isn't mine, it isn't mine.
The world takes stock, the world moves on,
Glitter and gone, glitter and gone.
I look to the sea and the sea says "Hush".
Dustpan and brush, dustpan and brush.
Then the clouds move in.
I listen to Gregg Braden and John Robertson talking about how we stand between two worlds, one falling apart around us, the other struggling into the light. Never, they agree, has there been so much opportunity.
I walk down to the sea. The streets aren't empty. People are about- mostly people with children.
As I stroll the Inner Voice comes online again and offers me some doggerel verse which I accept reluctantly, knock into shape and decide to call "Threnody".
Isn't it pretty? Isn't it fine?
It isn't mine, it isn't mine.
The world takes stock, the world moves on,
Glitter and gone, glitter and gone.
I look to the sea and the sea says "Hush".
Dustpan and brush, dustpan and brush.
