Sunday morning walk. Early. Our main street.
A lone contractor’s truck.
One fellow both arms leaning against the tray,
Breathing out memories from the night before.
His mate returning from the all-night
Pay, grab and gobble Burgher bar.
Stop by our best little provincial book shop, Carsons.
“Paris Indoor Style.“
A white cube. Inside that cube are white cubes.
Furniture. There must be, out of sight, a sign:
‘Please do not sit on The White Cube’
Leave town, up the steps, now a view of The Firth
Captain Cook, 1769, it was Spring.
1500 steps so far.
Highest point. 58 metres above sea level.
That is based on a standardised geodetic datum
David in Pen and Pics 