Late yesterday I took a walk along the tow path to where the city is distant.
It felt colder than it had been; autumn had descended to lay her kiss on the air.
A middle-aged man on rollerblades slid past me, stopping once to offer a solicitous glance.
Receiving no response he travelled on towards the dimming light, to continue his skate ‘n’ mate with some other loner.
The trajectory of a late and irate wasp froze me to the tarmac.
Its flight led me to think of a time, many years ago, when I tore the wings of a butterfly to watch it crawl, to steal its beauty by cartoon light.
How wretched I felt in the last of September’s sun.
by Sten
Belfast
