she took to the sea
paddling in its promise
of a brand new year
happy birthday. xx
13.9.10
9.9.10
DAY FOURTEEN
Even if it meant splicing time,
he was flying.
Even if it meant suspending disbelief,
he was flying.
Even if it meant an impact harder than the sobering truth of gravity,
he was flying.
The moment he closed his eyes he felt it,
this is flying.
4.9.10
EVENING THIRTEEN
My Grandad used to race bikes. He was part of a club. Not like the kind of club you see these days mobbing the cafes en masse, replete with lycra and the 'Business Section'. No, these guys were dedicated. It was only a small club. Four members in total to be exact. Apparently they met during their University days. All engineering students. None were what you would call studious though. It was only when a chain came off or in a pursuit to best a downhill record that lessons in mechanical advantage were ever learnt. They would ride 100 miles. Twice a week. If one of them got a puncture the others would whizz by and shout 'see you friday'.
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