Clean fridge

Tore myself away from the land to clean the fridge and do a bit of hoovering. It’s easy to lose yourself in the preoccupations of four acres and one’s reputation and local standing with the passing trade. I’m sure there are many more eyes on our progress than the meagre flow of jeeps on the passing track. I find myself wishing for spickness and spanness but that will have to wait a while.

Rather disturbed to find we have four bottles of ketchup on the go.

The Walnut Grove

I saw two men thick in a low hung walnut grove
With baskets crooked upon their arms.
They bobbed for fallen blackened fruits
Like fairground birds at pecking charms.
The undersea shade and leathered leaves
Muffled their smoke-wreathed idle chat.
Time stood still. It’s cyclical rites:
Autumn tipping summer’s hat.


(Still idly looking for that Frostian voice and cadence, the corner of the eye view of the passing world.)