In the shade of the pine
With pebbles and sand at my feet
I sit on the log barrier to have my photograph taken
Kate somehow manages, just after noon
To bring the flash 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 its age, the time of life
Before it became a new human support venture
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, only
To paint the words of grace and patience
Onto machine made porcelain mugs
