it couldn’t have been more than one or two
It’s up there doing its thing. The sun storms digging away. Turning over the seasons. Why wasn’t I shown this earlier? I was to busy running ragged, crawling through culverts, diving off rafts, climbing poplars and making forts in the bush. Yet it keeps going on. Washed away almost forgotten. So there it is. I’m older, almost old, and I’m not sure what to make of it. The dark, the sky, the stars and what they could mean. How they have little regard for me. That’s what I like the best. I am a star struck lover, jilted almost and I’d have it no other way.