Walking at 6:00 am watching rain hang low in the sky – near distance.
Smile, pulling bins to the road, the sound of their wheels –
one has developed a rhythm. Look down, not up, feathers lay random
covered in dew. The wind, a distance car, an aeroplane crossing the sky,
the sound of my feet on gravel & a half written song that’s been going
round in my head since yesterday morning. John Cage paints around
rocks with feathers dipped in thin pots of colour.