The autumn equinox does funny things to a man
I must be going soft.
I saw a flight of seagulls last night on the way home, migrating north in their classic vee formation, and I thought, why do they follow the guy at the front? What does he know that the ones at the back don’t? Are they whispering to each other, thinking, “does he know where the hell he’s going?”
I woke up this morning and the poem pretty much wrote itself as I lay in bed. On the back of an envelope, literally.
After breakfast, I was taking a stroll round in garden lapping up the 30 degree heat and untypically British scorching September sunshine, when a hundred or so gulls began drifting my way. They formed up over my house in a great vortex, swirling hundreds of feet in the air, as if saluting me, then made off to the north.
I swear, there is magic on this planet we don’t even know.
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