Blooms

Lunch hour, exploration of future story ideas. I took a stroll down Brick Lane, past the curry shops, past the cheap fabric stores and painted panels,


took a right at Buxton Street, gandered through the footballers in the park. Then I glimpsed mammoth Queen Anne's Lace and signs encouraging my steps

all the way to Spitalfields city farm. First I found vegetables, the best kind.



Then I saw my worries sprouting away in the hard drive.



Children and their mamas lunched and watered their herbs.



And even the broken found a place.




As I rambled, I found all kinds of puppies (animals). Some ate oats, some ate scraps, some said baaaaaaaaaa, others were guinea pigs and some couldn't see because they were too stylish.


Others were sly, seductive, upfront about their desires.



Then I jotted back to Whitechapel, back past the curry, into the cardamom, but with the memory of earth whiffs and basil. I found it hard to distinguish thought and sky.