sliver (17/August/18)

for a brief moment an autumn sky brokered the morning, blink and you might miss it… I didn’t blink, I didn’t miss it… and then all too soon it was gone consumed in a flat summer grey, the kind of grey only summer invites to the party, the kind that doesn’t know what to do with itself so just hangs around side-kicking invisible dust, hands in pockets, hood up, blank stare, forgetting to remember… something it forgot to remember… bleeding a lack of imagination… a single swallow sieved the sky for morning vagrants… the early bird gets the… moths in their case, daddy long-legs, tiny spider who spun a single strand of silk to take them up into the jet stream but first have to run the gamut of the swallows whiskers and keen turn of speed… last evening there were dozens making the most of the usual time of day feast flitting through clouds of unwary insects… I wonder if they consider being eaten, that they might be next… regardless it’s too late when they are become bird food, largely at the mouths of swallowing swallows gulping and swooping preparing for the journey which for some will be their first and will do without a second thought the thousands of miles migration they’ve never done or seen before but will do it anyway without question… autumn’s here but keeping a low profile… for now… only giving itself away at times it thinks no one is looking or paying attention as people generally don’t, being far too busy with their own tiny worlds to bother with the much bigger one they perch upon increasingly precariously-so…… I think it wants us to know it’s there though, waiting and sometimes not waiting, patient but cutting a sliver from the hem… it sees the threadbare, the ragged robins, the early fruits ripened far too soon, lost leaves, dead-heads, it notices every nuance with the discernment of an horologist for whom the balance is to the watch what the pendulum is to the clock……

© 2018 robert greig

all you can eat (6/August/18)

in the background a piano tricks the air into follow the leader, a Pied Piper of keys unlocking threads of persuasion… rowan berries have reddened too soon, “too soon!” cries the blackbird, “too soon!” begs the moon losing coherence in am omenic wane, will there be anything left come the winter?… the apples are pickable, how did that happen?… somebody ordered a helping of summer only to find it was a neverending ‘all you can eat’ promotion…. wasps confusedly rush to the plums as though their lives depended on it… and it does…… water, water everywhere, or so the myth goes as we drink, drink and be merrily wasting it hitherly-thitherly, wantonly, wistfully by making the most by using the most as though water grows on trees, all those trees, oh the trees being cut down one by ten by hundreds and thousands dragged from their roots in favour of houses built over gardens, levelling woodlands, built over fields, levelling hedgerows, bulldozer, bulldozer awoken again to rape and to beat the land to submission for more of the same and less of the green, fellows are felling, chopping and snedding all for the good of mankind, health and safety and anyway space is a premium and we’ve put a price on its heads and sold it for bricks  to developers waving their pricks comparing that my plot is bigger than yours… the piano is reaching its final accord on a chord that will signal the end as a day in the life of the seep-away light marches unashamed reaping the short-term with spade-loads of gluttony building them cheap and piling them high in a graveyard of those still breathing… “bring out your dead, bring out your dead!” your zombie-eyed seekers claw permanence from ephemera and hope for the best with their fingers and toes…. yesterday was summer, today is autumn, tomorrow we’ll see now won’t we and if there’s nothing much left, “well, we did our best”, or that’s what we’ll tell ourselves picking the skin from our bones……

© 2018 robert greig