I’ve never really celebrated Father’s Day. I don’t think anyone did when I was a small child and then, when it became more well-known in the UK, it was considered an American import and looked down on by my parents’ generation. Now, though, it’s almost impossible to ignore. Even when email newsletters offer the chance to opt out of Father’s Day updates, it seeps through on social media, in the news, and in shelves stacked with bottles at the supermarket.
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Tag: prose poetry
gin-soaked memories
I go to a lot of business events and meetings that are arranged around food and drink: breakfast meetings, a catch-up over coffee, networking lunches, etc. Most of the professionals I know seem to prefer to get their business over during work hours, but there are also a few events that take place in the evening and are more social than anything else.
Of course, being social is an important part of running your own company – it’s frequently said that “people do business with people” – so these can’t be ignored, even if there’s little expectation of making a sale, closing a contract or meeting a new client.
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memory of summer
It’s been another nasty day, with no sunshine. The rain started early, then turned to sleet and then wet white feathers of snow that whispered against my umbrella and turned immediately to slush under my feet when I walked to the supermarket to get milk.
Despite a brief attempt at settling, the snow was soon superseded by more rain, and now it’s reduced to a mizzling dampness, which is expected to fade to mist or fog later on.
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new every morning
I’ve said before that I dislike poetry readings and author appearances where the writers spend more time explaining than reading their works, so I should probably avoid giving any explanation of the where, the what, and the why of this piece except, perhaps, to label it as a first draft of creative non-fiction.
Since it is a draft and I expect the finished piece may end up being something quite different, I’d be particularly pleased if anyone wants to make comments.
New every morning
Anne lies with her eyes shut.
She is awake, but the world is not yet ready.
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autumn memories
Despite the glorious flowers still to be found in window boxes and tubs around the town, summer is officially over: the days have been getting shorter and Thursday was the Autumn Equinox.
I think all the local churches have either had their harvest festival or have it scheduled for tomorrow and the thought of harvest has reminded me once more of Spain. We didn’t pay much attention to the garden but even untended trees produce blossom and fruit as the year turns.
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don't confuse the narrator 