Epitaph For A Thought

Without having the thing in front of him he could not be certain it was of value, but having lost the thing it began to feel important, or potentially important.  He could not remember the details of the thing, but he did know when he had had it and where and who was there and what had been happening-

“it was when we were talking about…”

-though it may have been that the thing had nothing to do with any of that.  At least it might be possible to recreate the conditions, to get everyone together again in the same place and strike up a similar conversation-

“I mean, if that’s ok, if you can make it, it would be…”

-and if all of that was in place, maybe he would find the thing again.  In the meantime, he continued searching, trying out words, the idea being – it felt – on the edge of his tongue, a thin slither of hair away, a distance of only a few words.

In The Shadow

In the morning it’s raining so you don’t go outside – you just open the back door so the horses can go out and run around. You spend all morning in the shadow of lunch, which has been set to bubbling on the stove whilst you mend things.

When everyone is hungry, you ladle lunch out – only then you have to de-ladle it because someone has sounded the warning. You call in the horses, set lunch back on the stove.

Afterwards, you re-ladle lunch back in to the same bowls, though it is now late. The horses whine to be back outside, but you don’t let them, not just yet.