Reading: The Unknown Bird

THE UNKNOWN BIRD

Wednesday Afternoon has always been happiness and melancholia. Split between looking and recovering, forward and back, a splicing of time. Towards the weekend and away from the start of the week. A reminder of a monotony, I had forgotten when repetitively pressing word processor keys, and wistful configurations of dramas to enliven something, but feeling part of the crime, that is boredom. Stretching Wednesday afternoon.

Who am I to say....? the breaks and pauses, halter, sting, sit, tustle, rise, tumble. I am left watching images dissolve.

Distractions.

Who am I to say, but something caught my eye. Or shall I suggest being drawn to a place, a situation that you can never quite come at, somewhere beyond the borders of mind?

I am reminded of Edward Thomas’s The Unknown Bird…

(continues…./)