Small Stones July 1-4

July 1

I wake slowly, feeling my way into the day. My skin begins to itch and my eyelids are held shut. The fog in my head refuses to lift. I take my hayfever tablets and toast the summer.

July 2

Out of practice, my pen moves slowly across the paper as I write a letter.  There is so much to say yet it is difficult to write. I pause after each sentence, taking care with each letter and word, mindful of the need to avoid mistakes which cannot be corrected easily. Finally satisfied, I read the text over, fold the paper and place it into the envelope with care.

July 3

The rose bush is a gardener’s dream, each individual rose in a different stage of development but united in their perfection. Some are in full bloom, the top petals an intense orange caressed by others of a pinker hue, singing a slow beautiful song of early English summer. Others wait, tightly held together ready to take up their place in the choir.

July 4

4.45am. Sun streams through blinds and curtains. I stare at the alarm clock in disbelief and turn over angry at the intrusion. Problems, issues and ‘to-do’s fill the spaces left by sleep. I am restless but not rested.

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About Peter Domican
Marketer and change professional. Writer and photographer.

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