The Trees Make Moving Shadows on the Grass

Another exerpt from my first journal, age 17

Image by DALL-E

June 16th 1982

I cooked myself two eggs this morning and was rather proud of how well I did. They were perfectly over-easy with a dash of pepper. I toasted two pieces of toast, dipped one into the egg yokes and put the remains of the eggs on the other one to eat as a sandwich.

It’s kinda funny

honey.

I started writing I think a series of summer sonnets (1 sonnet) …

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   The trees make moving shadows on the grass,
but through the brightened sea of air, all full
of poles and wires, the shadows seem to pull
   the trees. Steaming slices of rippled gas
   roll off abrupt metal and broken glass
found scattered over oozing roads and dull 
cemented walks: the heavy coloured lull
   of flowers saddened that the spring must pass

escapes the eyes that watch through shaded light —
   forgetful eyes that don't remember seeing
   the earth recoil — remember only being
once slightly blinded by the early sight
of death walking across the sky upright,
   and for the shadows then suddenly fleeing.

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