not peonies

it was going to be peonies, quiet rioting out of their buds, delicate and wanton in paper dresses and bucket pumps, framed in mint green organic shopfront. but it was mark instead.¬†too thin and beautiful, faith-full now, quieter. and (re)discovering¬†(i can’t remember if i knew it before) what it is to simply look at someone in a crowded pub, and have other things – friends at your table, the dartboard sustaining steady thumping assault, top 40 background – fall away as he looks back. like having the first real conversation in a long time.


getting caught in the rain

caught up in something so beyond me, so unassuming but overwhelming, swept along moving sidewalks and coursing streets into laughter. changeful asphalt glorious and pulling the lines of my face into grins, into awestruck. drawing smiles into other faces like water.