Glass Painting

 I  remember  the  early  morning  mist  in  the  city  riding  a  bike  over  the   streets  of  cobbles.

The sun burns away the haze, no cars, just people walking quietly to fulfil their monotonous days.

That was long ago, now things have altered,  the cobbles have gone, cars are her, and people 

hurry on.

The morning mist is soft and quiet like a painting that Hopper might do.

It takes me back to memories of autumn days and idle thoughts of you.

Music runs through my head like the soundtrack to my life, I retrace the lost footsteps of my 

youth, listening for the sound of your voice.

The passed is like a long-dead stranger whispering in my ear, telling me thing I already know, 

things I don't need to hear.................