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

oldest youngest (13/August/18)

“I remember once upon a time I was the youngest”, she remembered, “now I’m the oldest, everyone I’ve known has died, serves me right I suppose for not”…… I thought it was raining, I looked, it wasn’t… I heard it again, turned, looked, there it was, still not raining… then without hearing it or thinking it I turned, looked, it was raining……

 

© 2018 robert greig

gone (7/August/18)

what’s the shape of a moment, what’s the sound of a moment, what it’s colour, all different or the same, how does it move: forwards, backwards, left, right, round and round, carefully, carelessly, footloose or fancy-free, orderly like handing dancing pass the partner in Strip the Willow; doe the shape of one slot neatly into the next like two skin cells or does it object, pull away, afraid as it would a mutating cancer imposing itself a binding opposition; does a moment stay attach to the previous forever fused to the last and the last and the last becoming one single moment from which all others stem in a macabre hokey-cokey, does it anchor them or swish it like an agitated tail, thus, do they work together as a chain or wriggle restlessly or do all the moments gone before curl and coil around and around; is there punctuation between each or are they such a thing themselves, horology’s grammar, and where do they come from anyway, does one beget the next and the next and the next like some repeating immaculate conception; who makes them, anyone, who decides, or had long ago decided when the next one will be or what order they would take; what are they made from, what are their ingredients, building blocks: quarks, stangeness or charms, one or either or a combination or something even more obscure: momentons, momentals, momentines, momentoes; perhaps they landed here long, long ago when a momentalite crashed into the earth sparking life into being by making a mess of what was a pristine surface of sleeping dust, happy being dust, in the unmoment; might some be gluten-free, others vegan, some suitable for diabetics, other dolphin-friendly, is that we are told to always ‘choose our moment’, doing so based upon dietary requirements or choice… can moments tell each other apart, can we tell one form another… I could ask but I have a feeling that by the time an answer may be forthcoming the moment will be ….

© 2018 robert greig