the october sun is warm through the window as it pools on my lap. downstairs the front door slams. most likely the postman. i wish more people were more gentle. i hold my hand to the light that outlines my fingers in gold, watch a magpie watching a squirrel on it's repetative mission of scurrying up and down the rowan storing food for winter in an abandoned nest. the day is so still it crystalises each sound... birdsong, a ticking clock, the hum of the fridge, the distant movement of traffic. there are few clouds today, but i worry they'll tear as they pass over the cluster of spires piercing the sky. for whatever reason though the churches perforating the skyline reassure me. of what i've yet to fathom. earlier i kicked my way, childlike, through the fallen leaves along the river. a literal and psychologically abstract journey. and yet the wisdom of the circle. even now the shadows move imperceptibly across the floor.