A waste perhaps, this glorious flap of colour on a sunny morning, a flap of glory that is so short-lived, so fragile, so precarious...
But what a waste. To be able to seize the moment, the climax of all that has gone before, and throw it together in a careless parade, an uncalculated display that may not last long, but which gives pleasure and meaning to all.
If only it were always a sunny morning!
Back to HQ...
© Farmer 26 January 1996