Red Admirals the wind walked along the hedgerow this morning picking up leaves in her teeth and grinding them down into mush to spit them out into red globules that might have resembled haws or even hips to lie in wait with the detritus of fallen discarded dreams of the future the silence in the wind paused exposing a gap where a deft sharp edge had cleft the root stock of the thorn allowing dreams to filter out of it’s core letting them rise up and kiss the silence to feel the chill of the wind now bereft of any skill until the fallen apples with their ripening perfume assailed it and brought in the flutterbys to make the wind beautiful a touch from them allowed the wind to speak again and gave it back it’s very own taste for a life that could be alcoholic unless policed by the ivy clad wall buzzing with perpetual life John Edwards
