Raking up the scattered fragments of neglected memories like soggy leaves left to freeze in the wet and cold coastal winter—
Melancholic events suspended by invisible strings dangling above a crib like a baby's mobile, hardly moving—
The numbness from incessant stories told and retold with slight variation over weeks, years and centuries; a reminder of our simple motives and carnal desires—
Dimly glowing through the deep fog, the torch of humanity, never ceasing to twist and dance in the endless evening of the past—
Towards the fire we look, like ancestral cave dwellers; without thought the mind is quiet, focused and awake. We thirst for simple peace amidst the threat of neighbours; no time for dread or waiting in vain, for now is the only now, the eternal now, the now of centuries before and of centuries to come. The love impregnates the dirty faces.