For Jan

Early morning costa

Reading Richard Foster on meditation

I am the horse that fails the first water jump:

I think on my feet, eat like a starved student,

Read rapidly, and speed up when I worry.

I determine to work on

SLOW

(until I get bored)

Wrapping hands round the coffee, the lights in here are a ring of broken teeth

I share space with office smart casual blues and tans

And the smoking, stubble chinned furry hood jacket man outside,

smiling on his phone, silver watch flashing in the September sunlight.

Ladder carrying workmen walk up and down looking important

no one’s in shirt sleeves today, the leaves are delicately grafting their Autumn reds.

The air smells of warm toasted breads – noisy with the hiss of the coffee machine and baristas

I feel like I’ve been let out of a cramped pen into light and air.

Looking up, outside I notice artwork, an aerial display of stylised swifts

Floating above the space.  It feels apt.

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