Tis but time to throw some Poo sticks at this big wide screen i seam to glance at from behind a curtain more a curtain of words than actual material…i seem also to come here sit and sigh wondering how fast summer is travelling and whisper to myself yes  but arrhhh wait until next time..each fresh day of a new calendar month i go yes today is going to be the day when scribble will be rampant across this page and every day of that month, but then  i squirm in my Panties and sigh even deeper and say to myself perhaps next month also...
I sit on a bench of bunched thoughts, a leaf whispers in my ears, the sight of swaying nettles plays a tune gives a banging smell can smells bang perhaps….dragging me back to school boy thoughts i just might…or perhaps….float down the road..1964 was fifty years ago so many mega celebrations coast through the media..
But what of tiny me..yes i whisper to myself…in my tiny leaf on the wind where am i blowing too….perhaps yes perhaps..so goeth for old Hugh….