The crinkle of an unoiled wheel slowly turning in departure

Nostalgia P&B I
Originally uploaded by Rafael Fischmann.

The walls of my room are covered in blu-tack. Once, it held hundreds of photographs to my walls. One by one, the colours of the pictures fade in the sun, and they fall onto the heap of rags on the floor. If I try to stick them up again, the blu-tack is dry and doesn't last. Not like the sticky pliant blu-tack of the past.

Like leaves, as the colours change and the pictures fall onto the hummus laden ground. Like birds, flying south for the winter. (the greenhouse stuffed full of dying plants)

I spend this late afternoon wearing my autumn and spring clothing, still bearing February's mud. I type in names from the past, first listing those I have lost touch with. Shining light into dark corners in a lightning struck tower in the north. A list of favourite words.

Then, the names of those who seem little more than names. People I knew but never really got round to anywhere near 'keeping in touch with'. Tales of commuting and great voyages, of birds and dogs, of spring breezes in deserted southern conurbations.

We all wear our heart sunglasses and our hair in bunches now and again.