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Goings on in the tar black night rattle me muse.

When you’re living rough like me, you got to take the best that each day brings. Yesterday morning’s dawn was glorious. You were probably still tucked up in bed, watching TV, or wondering why the marmalade side of toast always lands downside on the floor if you drop it, but the purple glow that was the sun’s advance guard took some beating as it caressed the shadows, made the shape of things shimmer, and then brought the first twinkling shaft of gold from the sun. Soon it was a burnished copper delight of a show on the fields and autumn turning leaves. It helped me get over the strange stuff the night before.

Someone was up to something out on the shipping lane. Distant flecksof light far out in the tar black, bobbing, and blinking. Couldn’t see through the binoculars exactly what. Disconcerting it was. Then suddenly they’d gone, just black and no riding lights on the boat. A boat unloading? No riding lights? Got to be dodgy. There’s been a lot of curious stuff happening lately. Someone has been in me camp when I’m away working during the day. Things have moved around. Not much. But noticeable to me. To me it’s my home, this little camp, even if it is outside and basic and I’d deck whoever it was messing with it if I found them. Whoever it was took an old iron pot that had some stew in it. Foxes don’t do that. Not when it is safely up out of reach. Don’t know if it is one of the illegals, the eastern European pickers or what. Feels odd.

Spent the last two day’s trying to write a new song. I’ve got fed up with doing the same old stuff at the pub week after week, and the dawn rise two days back, a misty job giving way to pools of platinum highlights out on the mud banks, made me think me muse was back. But the song, “ Road Side Puddle Surfer”, about the idiots who soak pedestrians by speeding through a puddle as they pass tem, isn’t coming together. “You’re a jerk, you’re a berk and you shouldn’t be allowed on the road. The karma will be out to get you, ” was the best I could do. Not a classic is it? No, me or the muse is rattled by the unseen goings on. I’ll keep me eyes open, but I’m ready for anything. Tonight I’ll be treating me muse at The Old Ship. Scratchy’s up for a few jars of mood elevator and we shall have fun. Hope you do too!

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