with basil’s mum

basil is no clown

I had the pleasure of spending some rare time with an old friend a few days ago.

The mother of Basil (RIP) actually.

Sometimes things do come together to create the perfect non storm of connection.

We sat swinging our legs from her wonderful, new verandah. The weather was perfect. Could have been scripted. We were transported on our own friendship stage (cf video).

I truly love those precious moments of a collective soul sigh. Thank God for old friends. Old Nick Cave loving friends.

And then I remembered I had written about friendship before so I won’t go on again.
(And if I do say so myself, I don’t need to. I think that old post, bursting with profundity, says it all… I could be kidding, wink…)

 

“choirs of stars appearing…”

The gifts you leave behind

there are no words for,

this bouquet of memories

leaves a scent of a doorway

to concertina-d time,

where I’d wake in the night

so gently enveloped

by the musical dreams

of a fellow insomniac,

composing your art on piano,

transposing your sight onto canvas,

our hearts

pressed up against the glass in wonder

at our endless sight.

But the only glass that reveals now

is filling

with the ends of sand.