An ever-present breeze snakes respectfully around this still suburban maze.
An orchid of muted screenings based solely on improvised script.
These concrete coves an individual episode in the worldwide reality show.
The local tabby rolls lazily upon irritated chrysanthemums until a blunt bark disturbs its fur.
The daily eruption of youth an aging reminder of younger years.
Laughter.
Laughter.
Laughter.
Remember.
All walks of life connected as one by the simple blend of bricks, mortar and routine.
Future Olympians running laps around cobbled memories.
The finishing line never quite established for this never-ending race.
The back alley gateway an imaginary goal mouth swallowing potential.
From cups of diluted refreshment to cups of gold thrown aloft on foreign ground.
The birthplace of whirling pedals.
Not yet any thoughts of records or medals.
The origin of a great British legacy lies waiting amidst our terrific terraces.
After dark the curtains close and a loving oxymoron takes control of the night.
To make or to loathe the hidden question behind each fabric concealer.
"They're at it again" we say; "They'll be able to hear us" they say.
Entwined bodies or battling adjectives.
Passionate breathlessness or torcherous tears.
A diminshing relationship or a precious exchange.
Slamming windows to mask home truths and deceive nosy neighbors.
Unavoidable conflicts, wonderful innocence and unforgettable noise.
Celebrations remembered forever and a day.
Achievements always influenced by surroundings.
Triumphs spark imagery of those foggy winters and scorching summers.
As life progresses we refuse to forget that concrete strip.
Despite our required exits those memories cement the strongest foundation.
That breeze still present and that maze containing scatterings of a new generation.
No comments:
Post a Comment