Thursday, 26 July 2007

when is old

when is old

the merlot slid easy down my throat this evening. much as it galls me, i am forced to admit that 2003 was a good year for australian reds. as a patriotic south african, a connoisseur of braaivleis, rugby, sunny skies and chevrolet , it pains me to admit that anything good might come out of aus, home of shane warne, g'day mate and dingoes..... however ... a really smooth red, uncorked and flaunting the smell of grapes and sunshine, will always turn this girls head!

so there i sat, with the light seeping out of the day, the all embracing, sapping heat of a july day on long island, scattering before the cool of evening, incoming. i sipped another mouthful, removed my glasses and tilted my head back..with the warmth of the red softening the days night encroached. the perfume of my own slightly sweaty body body surrounded me and new york mosquitos made free with my innocent scottish blood.

ah yes, perhaps my reader would be interested to know, it is possible you may have already grasped.... the fact that i am presently, far from scotland's seldom sunny shores. my body, brain and i ... sojourn for the next two weeks...across the pond., in the presence of our beloved muse. once more...i digress. wandering off one's appointed subject a sign of impending or perhaps even ..already present brain degeneration? nah...methinks mind has always wondered, a symptom of the mind nomadic.

so there i am, relaxed and soothed, glasses off,my eyes closed. i commune with my surrounds. i open my eyes and blink, peering into the half light of evening's fall.l am surrounded by the world of monet...blurred.yet defiantly... beautiful. normally, i fear the blur...the proof of passing years and aging eyeballs....

two weeks later!!
and that was as far as my blog writing went! the challenge of typing on a keyboard with the letters worn out due to years of use... too much for this idle hunt and peck poet. afraid i have also lost my original thought "when is old" ... ah well....

i fly home to scotland on saturday, home to the " less hot" of ayrshire, the smell of the ocean, the cry of the gulls and the absense of mosquitos ...home to a keyboard with all letters present and accounted for. when i am home i will write again, of new york, of love and companionship, of racoons in the night, woodpeckers and squirrels and inspiration. not to mention ... pigs ears, abortion and the importance of being eryll!

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