Monday, 2 January 2012

Small Stone - Jan 2nd

The day began full of beans, roaring, rearing up, raring to go - an infusion of excess energy which proved prey to thievery, stolen amid descent into the mundane and routine, to leave behind a rage at small things. Chaos crashed in, fuelled by laughter without mirth. Exaggerated anger directed white hatred at breadcrumbs left on a kitchen surface and a single sock carelessly lingering among the dropped pine needles. My taut string let loose on the tea stained white enamel of the kitchen sink, and the dishwasher was loaded, piled with resentment, along with last night’s pans, a muesli bowl and the butter-knife. Into the garden with the detritus of food scraps to pile on more worm food beneath the sharp shadows of the bare tree, my gaze directed outward, to the field where horses sunned themselves in the day’s brief, sharp glare and I was washed clean, my thirst of overwhelming fury quenched, banished by a drink of crisp, calm restoring purity.

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