strolling

The traffic is busy under an uncomprehending sky of wide and varied clouds. In the open space between office blocks, the harvest is ready: green leaves below the straw-yellow stalks and grain. There's no-one who knows what the grains are, nor will the harvest happen. Our food comes more easily, from China or the other side of the world. Blackbirds in the sky do not care.

When I can't workout at lunch time, due to increasing frailty, I walk with a book. At the end of the walk some fragments collect at the bottom of my consciousness. Often the fragments are the same as last years', both the walk and the thoughts are out and back again.