The moon mill

Today I'm doing two for the price of one just to see. Yesterday I did two for the price of two, but that didn't turn out that good. Who knows what I'll do tomorrow...

Image by kordula vahle from Pixabay

“This is my dust powder yearning in the big blue walls of a lonely shoreline where angel pennies fall into that space where too, nobody is perfect. So, to gather the sunlight moments with my perfect thirst, and spell them to play music in the hour.

But this is a story of lost time that took my soul and used it to write this, where I have the choice to go back to the moon-mill with my eyes half empty.

But I don’t know if I should so I will ask the great spirit and await the reply to see for what is, or what is not.

Then, that coffee moment that drops down like a saving grace came over me and all thought of pennies, graces, angels, and answers left me.

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

A fire engine clanged its noise towards me then went past. I felt glad it didn’t stop here. All that energy of fire fighting would just spoil the coffee.

But then it turned a corner and clanged back again closer and closer, and roared past at breakneck speed the other way with all the fire fighters hanging on for dear life and shouting amongst themselves.

I decided to think of something else.

An empty cup of coffee is a sad affair, you miss it, like a good friend who spends a few moments with you fanning the breeze of contentment, then has gone back into their beautiful life, leaving you with a yearning for more in a space that is emptying of their fragrance; and the long day opens up before you surrounded by used memories of what has gone before.

Image by Marco Massimo from Pixabay

I could hear the fire engine going away into the far distance of the edges of my mind. I thought that if I had another coffee the fire engine would race back again, so I went back to the moon-mill and let all thoughts of fire engines, empty coffee cups, the haunting shadows of yesterday replete with their attachments leave me in the pleasant swell of the sound of the ocean that squeezed through the open window and murmured it’s forever lullaby that nothing matters outside of this moment’s space of the moon-mill.

The moon's dust is a piece of perfect I can never touch as an angel feather danced for me; and then it danced alone,” said I, dancing alone.

HALF A MIND

I have half a mind left
There’s nice
Yes
And what are you going to do with your half a mind?
Save it up
And then what?
Nothing, I'm just going to save it up
What good's a half a mind if you don't use it?
I shall use it one day, but not now
I'll swap you
What have you got to swap?
Half an apple
That’s not much
I could throw in a packet of soup
Hmmm...

Images from Pixabay