Music was the air around us. Contrapuntal violin and flute danced together between my ears, filling the mindscape normally reserved for spontaneous, toxic words with a sonic perfume. The mighty sun upon my face was uninhibited in the absence of any single cloud across the azure canopy overhead. The vivid colour framed his face, only for a moment, as I looked towards him - upwards slightly, as the difference between us in height sweetly allowed.

He looked powerful; statuesque.

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Not For Me

We joined together,                                                                                  
But not at the hip
Working so hard
To become equipped,
Experiences had
Shifts passed by,
We, were aiming high.
Through the glass ceiling we went
Touching the sky
Thinking back, I want to cry
But not you. 

Your drive is impressive
But it’s not for me
Straight to the top
I hear your plea. 

Like a spring morning
Fresh and bright
Up early, finish late,
To you it seems right. 

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"We Choose To Go To The Moon"

I choose to go to remote parts of Scotland and UK not because it's easy but because it's hard,
Whether naysayers at ATOS, DWP and numpty neighbours agree or abhor;
Spina bifida limping to scenic areas to soak up the scenery and solitude -
Hindered further by leg ulcers, lymphoedema and walking stick support 'guard' -
Durness a highlight, Rannoch Moor another, Isle of Wight - the Needles, Birsay/Orkney, a multitude.
Mull of Galloway, Cairngorms ski centre viewpoint, Applecross road '1 in 3' Bealach Na Ba,

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