What is the man in the moon saying to the starlings; how are the colours of the pheasant determined; who tells the pigeons to go the same places in the cliffs to nest year after year; why is a seagull in full flight so impressive? Thus run the philosophical thoughts of a poet who has been blitzing her garden, pruning, turning out pots, rescuing trellis blown down in the winds for five hours instead of fixing the cover for her new book. It seems important to be living in the moment, noticing the smaller miracles of life, as well as setting the scene for a beautiful summer.
Must stop blogging and fix the cover or really will be an April fool!
Your first sentence is a poem 🙂
That’s good might try and write it. I’m not bad at endings either it’s jut the endless white space in the middle that causes me grief. x