More intelligent minds than mine
Have spoken
Everything of consequence said
Now I speak my unimportant bit
Never saw the sky this blue
Broken shells hint at the idea
Of something that was
And has passed
Like time whispering
Footprints on sand
Just before the tide washes in
Aren’t ugly
Neither is the old mill.
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Tags: Mills, Nostalgia, Photography
Posted in 55-worders, Citywatch, Idea ore, Roving I, Waxing eloquent | Comments (1)
November 10th, 2006 at 12:42 am
I don’t know how you are saying that, but I think, broken shells, broken glass, falling droplets of water, footprints on sand-just about to be washed away and even old mills are fascinatingly beautiful. Just one of my idiosyncracies I guess.
When the train crosses the area between Mahim and Mahalaxmi, my eyes are always trained outside. The contradiction between the run-down mills and the green foilage around it is just heart-breakingly mesmerising. Or so I think.