Loony poems and wacky stories and thoughts one too many! July 10, 2015. I manage, mostly,. Even with the cuts and scrapes. But you, with your kindness. And on the darkest of days,. You coming home to me. When your breath no longer catches. At the sight of me. My heart misses a beat. When i find you in the crowd. Even as this lingering grey.

Winter with its few people on darkening streets and anonymity under long black coat collar pressed up to cheek. Winter when I could step outside my front door to walk the streets of South Hampstead and round the silhouettes of hedge-lined streetcorners, all by myself. Mind sharpened by the knife-edged air, body braced against the outside world. In a cold country a person can be alone in winter. The hedonists have been let out to graze on these quiet evening streets.