Whilst Out Walking…
On a Potentially Perfect Friday Morning
Which is most unlikely.
Although, what is perfect for one
Is an absolute disaster for another one
And one man’s bumper is another man’s fender
I have no foreknowledge of my thoughttrains – there is no schedule to follow
And no stations to climb on or off at.
(Embark or disembark, methinks).
Perhaps, I just travel along and wherever it stops is where I lay my hat.
I have hats.
But, not at this moment.
Which is why I write upon these lines.
And miss the points.
(Just trying to think of some more railway things.)
No, I appear to have run out of steam.
Ha! The Steam-of-Consciousness writing is a carriage to carry my words quickly through the countryside.
And, only stopping to take on water, I provide a first (more likely a ‘third’) class service as I roll along with my stock rolling with me.