a dream built block by hand-made block dissolving

In the dark three thrushes start the day. Moment of calm, just dog and I and day sliding up the sky. In the distance the rooks begin, and woodpecker’s drumming ricochets round the valley. Already snowdrops, primroses, crocus, a few wild
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and across the valley in the quickening January light I see that the little rammed-earth roundhouse with its arched hobbit windows and its not-quite roof, a dream built block by hand-made block and abandoned when the marriage broke up has, in the last days of torrents and gales, completely
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And here we are, third planet in line from the one-of-many suns; I could weep for the terror and beauty of impermanence, and the dreams we offset against it, and this laden speeding-up small planet spinning through the forever sky, and we with our little lives clinging so tightly to the wrong things, the ones that can never save us from
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