pocketful of wisdoms

‘The roof of the sky was a stuck clock, moving across, frozen on its hinges of air.’

‘She smelt of dancing cinnamon moving about on the burned edge of dark rooms.’

‘The trees stood without effort and even the air lacked ambition.’

‘He stood, pacing in his mind, watching the slush of the corner for a sign, as if sanity were a pair of idle hands with nothing to fidget with.’

‘Work is the most overused excuse for not being able to live any other way.’

Dow Mossman - The Stones of Summer