– I’m thinking about becoming nocturnal, a creature of the night.
– I understand the impulse to societal reticence.
– But I want also to shun the hours of sleep so that I may dance or weave a magical world of words. What will become of me?
– Allow me some time to come up with a suitably wry response to that jibber-jabber.
– Okay.
– Actually, I think I’m going to wait for the Winter to arrive, by which time we will both have forgotten this.
– No problem. I’m used to waiting. The bus service here is lousy, as I have mentioned on more than one occasion.
– Now it has! Winter is here in its Eskimo, I mean Inuit outfit, which rhymes.
– I know. I’m chilly, although in my head it’s still early Spring, windy and wet. I am often baffled by the weathers of the soul.
– Such phrases leave me feeling more bereft than I’m already feeling.
– What dost thou mean?
– I don’t know. I say what I think is required.
Martin Stannard
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