it’s all written there on the tin, the lines across it in fine writing, scrawled by the sun, the wind, the passing rain beating down. we loved the sound of it, the tin roof of the farmhouse. we wrote our own lines on it, songlines, the arc of us. it…

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a single finger across the sky, smearing the milky clouds into the blue. a place to fly, a place to dream on high. should the blue of my eye become the mirror of me, to show what is in me, deep inside the blue. i looked and dreamt, wondered and…

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humming, suspended in the air, tongue and beak stretching to pick the spider from the web. all the morning dew and refracted sun spills over the long grass and there is more buzzing than is attributed to you. a fleeting moment, a scattered vision as we meander down the drive…

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Peter

software engineer, writer and guitarist. i love books, history and travelling. aspiring to wellness. fan of stoicism.