Dewy grass clutches hidden easter egg
and half chewed puree apple.
The bold red of the Shiraz is disembodied
against this overcast sky.
Gum boot kids feign sprinter postures
and we shout..
Tiny water drops alight fly-away
blonde hair as they race down hill.
"Comeon girls, beat the boooys!"
So they scurry in their little bodies,
plodding short stepped curves,
legs moving fast to keep upright,
bumping into each other in their excitement.
Nappy bottoms crouch and small hands grab at grass.
Whole tufts are brought up with pink and blue,
green and glittering gold.
She returns first, panting and proudly
showing us her tiny, shivering outstretched fingers.
Her colourful foil prizes!
Her pale blue eyes.
Our laughter rattles the window panes.
The fog swirls in the valley below us.
The Myth of the Muttering Madman is a project in self-realization.
Monday, April 09, 2007
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