haar (6/Sept/18)

cometh the haar, cometh the dark-time, light is leaching, time has breached… that bucket won’t be enough, even one without holes to bail out the rushing days which aren’t in themselves in any more of a rush that any year past… it just feels that way as September brings that sinking feeling, in a downward trajectory into winter as though this is a thing to dread albeit temporarily halted by an imaginary respite when the clocks go back one hour resulting in a mass delusion which serves to last no more than a week or two at best before…
before…
before we sink again… this is how some see the year, winter as the lowest ebb, a time between the tides, the slack when nothing much happens… or so that’s what they think… which is followed by a change of gear as buds appear and the time begins to feel itself pulled up by its bootstraps at first in baby-steps then stomping strides into spring when anything and everything is possible, or so that’s what they think, until..
until…
until it finds what it’s been looking for, summer sitting high atop aloof upon its plateau and where time then sits looking at the view and thinking, I’ve made it, all the way, all the way, all the way up to the top of the top…
now what?…
time stops…
or so that’s what they think… all that energy, expenditure, is bound to take its toll and it does, so now, now, how to come down from such a mighty peak of expectations?… follow the tortuous path, yes, there, though it’s more of a sheep-track admittedly and yes it is a bit twisted, unflat, and may at time falls away on one side or the other or sometimes both at once but if you hold you nerve,
hold it,
hold it,
hold it, you might just
make it,
make, it,
make it, but watch your step, mind the gaps… there are always gaps, those inbetweens you’ll find between the things you give a name… don’t worry so much about the loose stones, it’s the leaves on the track you need to keep a watchful eye… but trust in a good pair of sturdy boots, that’s the trick… it’s downhill all the way, but the kind of downhill you might be thinking…
there…
there…
see it… it’s still only barely visible through the haar but it’s there deep in the heartwood of winter beyond the autumn distracting with its scatters of illusions and allusions…
there…
there… winter huddled around a fire… waiting… seems as good an aim as any so perhaps not so ‘downhill’ after all…

© 2018 robert greig

half-asleep attentions (25/August/18)

as slowly as I fell asleep words crept furtive fleet of feet to the sound, to the sound, to the sound of the rain, a rain descending restless, coming and going, coming and going, coming and going in fits and starts, stops and measures measuring each outburst with random-like precision… I sit up, listen, wait… then comes another to the sound, to the sound, to the sound of rain and the sound of rain means one thing only, it’s raining… the obvious is always very obvious as that’s the nature of the beast and rain, for one, will not be distracted by the half-asleep attentions of one who should be fastly sleeping soundly instead of listening, listening, listening to the sound, the sound, the sound of rain a rain that doesn’t covet my attention or even indeed yours, it’s not a narcissistic leader of some petty State, nor a bully wielding fists and fear and weak intimidation, nor feels the need to shout the loudest nor even craves my affirmation it just is the is it is and does the does it does, no motive nor no favour, no intent malign no self-inclined while merely just three weeks ago the night enthused a warmth so warm as sleep became a struggle now just three weeks a mere three weeks a change is one the way as single figures in the Celsius make sleep again a pleasure not a chore to the sound, to the sound, to the sound of the rain, to the sound, to the sound, to the sound of the autumn born of summer kindles winter in its reign……

© 2018 robert greig

big wheel keeps on turning (5/April/18)

… yesterday…

the big wheel turned against and despite of the weather-worn weather weathering  and rendering the mountains into cloud a sky so heavy as to scrape my scalp against… it stops, one person boards, around it goes again, one car with one person soon be sitting on top of the world, or at least obscured by clouds against the grey refrain of the day… rain falls with a quiet persistence, sometimes more so sometimes less so but always so… the big wheel turns regardless, one person in one car…… people eating ice cream under awnings watching winter in spring and arms reach away… precipitation quietly persists…… a castle looking quite at home, its dour, stone-carved audacity looking so clumsy on a sunny day seems to fit right in now, amidst the cavernous grey from which  the rain, the rain, the rain remains restrained, for now… from its walls the big wheel turns, one person in one car… such unforgiving walls, something for a rainy day perhaps… perfect…… the walls steal away the present supplanting the dregs from another time that lingers on the lips of ghosts, waiting, waiting, waiting to be spoken…… cold, dank, desperate, dark, its miserable persona coming into its own, attractive, alluring, enticing… an air of detached inevitability… gulls guard the walls… what do they remember, know?… passed down through generations, gull-lore… they keep telling us but we don’t listen, “surely they’re just laughing at us”, we say… well, would you blame them… the moat retains a multitude of sins, denying the eye access, lacklustre in reflections… and the big wheel keeps on turning, one person in one car, round and around… a gull-eyes view…… gull-envy…… determined souls determined to endure/ enjoy their holiday, their travel/ travails… all this way for… this?…… worry not, tomorrow will be spring again, that’s the way we roll around here, round and around on the big wheel turning, one person in one car… … … …

© 2018 robert greig