Winter Transport

Waiting for the Bus,
Cold burns through the soles of my boots.
Crow cocks his head at my strange dance
in the narrow band of pale sunlight
streaming weakly between the buildings.

something

a crumb.
a red rosehip.
this way.
shhhh.
sit and listen.

Inspired lull

Mid-afternoon is dragging.

People, like scallops:

Gold nuggets

in the net of my perception.