Thoughts from the park: Vapours on the breeze

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I watch the rays of the mid-morning sun

vaporise the frozen dew on the tree

and it floats away like mist in the breeze.

Brownian motion in Kew Gardens.

I dream of my old stories floating away so effortlessly

freed by the elements to start anew.

Then, I remember the stories are already mere wraiths

their function long since forgotten,

past their sell-by-date.

All that is needed is some sun and a light breeze

and then as I let them go they will be carried away

as vapours on the wind.

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