Befuddled footprints taken through the daylight hours feel shrink wrapped tight unruly no room for manoeuvre.I feel that i am in the flow, the spiffy man in a melancholy raincoat seen today enforced the notion that this year has reached the dying stage,the time to reflect,has it been worth each footstep taken, everything i read,or every human i talk to is in retro-rocket mode.The cold days the short daylight spans, fester the habit flocked in sheep,I feel myself being drawn into the woolen coat i do not want, so tired has been the year.So tired has been the media drum banging away not even dung beatles can crawl deep enough to be free of such gunge.
I sit here and cannot remember if i have visited the sea shore this year,the pictures on my camera were they this last or what year.I do not like this mood,it is too easily caught,to easy to become the sheep,to bury oneself in the middle feeling the swaying mass pull, choking individual thoughts.
The gritter lorry has passed my window maybe it is simply just the cold.Maybe i should go and talk awhile to my old friend King Canute just because he cannot turn the tides foaming mirth,can mean possibly his gentle touch will turn mine away from the flock,maybe i need to dance naked in some warm sunshine in only hobnailed boots and pink laces...sigh...