Author Archives: davidlegge

Our Bay tree has been pruned. Pruned right back. Sunlight. Open up the blinds in the morning and behold! There be light.An afternoon of gerzuzz, crack and thump. Chainsaws, young blokes with muscles and a head for heights.A pile of heavy, chunky fire wood. Waiting to be finely chopped for next winter.Waiting

Late afternoon. After work crowd start drifting in. Thames Wharf, a slow beer, fish and chips. Small town, most of us know each other. A passing comment, witticisms, “Come and join us.”Tide turns. Time to go home. Feed the, “Where have you been furry ones.”

Cool sunny day.Bike ride.Leaving town I greet dog walkers, social cyclists.Then fewer, more serious bikers – a nod.Cross Kopu Bridge, take cycle trail towards Pipiroa.Alone. Cool air, blue sky and the warning calls of swamp birds.Yes, one happy intruder

Our coldest morning this year. And Spring but 26 days and 11 hours away. (How do they know when spring starts? Stops?)Not far from Thames a field of golden daffodils tossing their headsIn disdainA wee bunch, picked it was.Now watching usAs wee toss our salad in gay profusion.

“Good afternoon cows.”Bike ride. Live stock have become used to us. They munch in contentment while contempating Euripides‘Silence is true wisdom’s best reply’.

Delayed by a book shop on the way to my Cafe stop.In my case not goodBooks, already so many.A History of ArtIn Alphabetical orderDone Do you mind?Borrow container from table next doorA slow, long black simmers best with a wee tither of raw sugar.Table next door roughly attired, unkempt, and that wide, generous smile.A cintentedContinue reading “Table Next Door”

The very beginnings of the universeAtoms, moleculesThe speed of light.Time And the soft thud of a fridge door

And cumin cheese, gouda too.Shortbread, chatter and time in the sunLighten up, listen. Too inflexibleAnd you’ve lost your audienceYour most valuable listener. Come on. Its like pouring set concreteBut, two heads thinkingOn what the other is thinkingFar better than one.

For flours, seeds, I call in to Restore Sultanas moist dates, grains and more Singer treadle sewing machine. Clothes, repairs, memories of pins gripped between my mother’s lips.