Spring

Petals on the ground like confetti
Pink, white and each one tiny and discrete
Heaping in the gutters like a pastel snowdrift

Rain falling from the sky
And a smell like Melbourne school mornings
The feeling of 'change', 'change'... excitement stirs

The sun like a revelation
It's warm and the light drawn out for ages
We can stay up late now and do something. Finally!

Wretched

Wretched with longing... not supposed to feel this way. How many times does it have to happen? Only once, I guess. How often do you see the word wretched these days? It seems so Victorian.

So I'm in the throes of an anachronisticly vocabularised state. Somehow that's OK.