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Ruth AylettToday’s News
Today’s News
The morning scrambles up the sky, claims grey-pink-orange is the best colour; the morning stumbles down the street looking hung over and harassed; the morning taps on the window and asks if you have any change; the morning skips around the playground painting it with stripes through the railings. The morning ducks and dives through the traffic, glittering; demands you get your arse into gear.
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The evening jumps out of the afternoon and says ‘boo!’, caught you not at it; the evening walks in through the windows speaking of hot buttered scones; the evening reflects off the pond and tells the swans to go home; the evening gathers around the sunset placing strategic stars for effect. The evening slides over the hills insinuating it will all end in darkness.
Ruth Aylett
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