Voices carry through the night. Amplified by still-warm walls. Ironic: humans outside and cats in. Every window door vent thrown wide, As the moths have a jamboree. No breeze to ruffle my book leaves tonight, only the tap of winged things, scampering over mottled ink. All dry, everything dry, save my sweat. Tonight, England has … More Solstice


Floating in pale sunlight: Leaves pivotĀ above my rocking hips; Reminiscent of al fresco wildness.   Copyright Tom Tide 2017