Here we go with another Sunday Whirl
The open fire smokes as he rolls a cigarette.
‘They will come soon enough’, he says.
She doesn’t mean to stare at this old man with skin like leather and hair like ebony.
Nothing can hide from the grey eyes that see more than most.
The wind howls through time, bringing with it voices speaking to him in foreign tongues.
He embraces the green mist as it reveals to him the mysteries of the past. He smiles.
‘Never be afraid to face your destiny,’ he said.