...it is lying upside down... when i pick it up a thick black fluid runs out - it looks as if it is dead...
...before me is a rectangular pond shimmering slightly in the wind... the clear sky is rapidly disappearing as long grey clouds move northwards... i sit back and see the orderly but desolate look of the garden today and the fast moving clouds... the edge of a weather front, i imagine...
...i look at the twisted branches of an ancient oak that is growing on a terrace high up against the clouds - i never liked this twistiness and wonder why oak trees were, and are, so venerated...
...all these are interpretations, of course.
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© 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 john chris jonesIf you wish to reproduce any of this text commercially please send a copyright permission request to jcj at publicwriting.net