Fleeting Moments

A shaft of sunlight cuts across the early morning gloom,

shines down my driveway before moving quickly along the green.

I follow with my eyes watching as it cuts

through the shadows on the pitch and putt course

to the new houses and beyond.

I walk in its path until my way is blocked.

As I turn down by the school the town is awakening.

Mothers on the school run park at impossible angles,

causing the white van mans blood pressure to rise.

He snarls, she smiles, each lost in their own importance.

On main street the shopkeepers repeat the tasks of yesterday,

whilst trying to decide the most profitable way to display their wares.

A delivery van double parks to the annoyance of fellow road users,

Car horns cry out in unison as the driver responds with two raised fingers.

It’s good to communicate.

The smell of an early morning fry drifts from the coffee shop.

Next door a lady struggles with the lock of the vegetable shop door.

Across the street the cobbler takes his place on his seat by the window.

Here he will sit till six, mending shoes and watching the world go by.

Over the bridge by the river the new town starts to rise,

yellow hat worker drones beaver away, all in the name of progress.

At the top of the hill I pause and look back down.

Noise of the morning bustle begins to grow,

like a thousand different voices trying to be heard.

The magic of a January morning begins to fade,

as the reality of a new day takes over once more.