(on a wing — a Headnote form Haibun)
The wind is always strong here in the Wharf. You can see the Thames struggle, its waves falling on top of one another like a row of dominoes left at the mercy of wilful boys. The river is dark, grey, morose. Even the faint rays of the sun are unable lift it out of its gloom. Any time the light becomes a bit brighter, the merciless wind pulls a cloud across. Its anger is apparent. The quarry is down and the attack is relentless. I watch this one-sided battle every evening, sipping on my takeaway Cappuccino as I walk alone across the river bank. Sometimes I wonder who I am: the river, the wind, the cloud or the sun. Perhaps I am all and perhaps I am neither. I wish I knew. I wish I was someone. I wish I was anyone.
circle on the wind
wave-skimmer, cloud carouser
free, fly to the sun