In the shade of the pineWith pebbles & sand at my feet
I sit on the log barrier to have my photograph taken
Kate somehow manages, just after noon
To bring the flashbulb into action
It was clever, she says later
To the accompaniment of beating drums
The pine brush carries it's own random patterns
Rings of the sawn log gives away its age
A span of life before becoming further human solace
Times, and places run their course
Where once there was unfettered imagination
Coupled with a freedom of will there is now ageing
Rituals with repetition which in turn lead to decay
We are all in need of the search for a new beginning
A new motivation; but it is no longer sufficient
To paint the words
Of grace and patience, onto ceramic mugs
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