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diary

waking interlude

The long hair versus short hair debate did not outlive lockdown. Interesting how “the work” of months, nay years could be destroyed in a few short snips of the scissors. Mere minutes. A metaphor for life. But this is old news. Just something to get the keyboard juices going. A leaching of language through my fingertips to the page in front of me.

At the front of the house I just heard an owl. Presumably the same bird occasionally to be heard out back. I did spot one once sat on our trellis in broad daylight. Same bird, maybe. Wonder where it kips. An old oak tree in a field, the upper rafters of a crumbling barn, possibly.  Will it find a kill tonight. I guess the allotments are a good hunting ground.

This morning I am awake a lot earlier than has been my recent habit. I’m not sure you would call it insomnia. I got six hours. I don’t lie there desperately trying to get back to sleep although I do go through a process of trying to decide whether if I stay still I will nod off again. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes after I’ve take up the tea I doze a little. A good doze. Back to bed…

By Trefor Davies

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