fortuitous

sometimes
pairs meld –
those posing gulls
pretending they’re swans
on the neighbour’s roof,
two scraps of crumped paper
pretending they’re sculpture
at the bottom of the basket

sometimes
my memories collide –
summer sky on a winter day
or is it the other way?

some days
a hush falls like snow
and time itself
ushers us along –
sweeps away
darker thoughts
and in the welcome clearing
there is no need or want
there is no map
but breath
and perhaps
a bit of luck
.
.

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