Do you ever stare at a starry sky and wonder what your place is in all of this?
Do you hear the choirs of birdsong in your garden and imagine the meaning of each tune?
Or is the walk along this journey enough? Are you that important that none of it matters?
Sometimes I sit on a bench in a park, blowing smoke rings and watching the children play. They look at me like I’m a curiosity. “Mad Mr Jeffrey is at it again,” they whisper.
Do you look at a weathered face and wonder about the memories behind the creases?
I wouldn’t like to imagine how these infants would feel if they could read my mind and see the images that play there over and over. Distant times, faraway places; the recall as vivid as a show on TV.
Do you look at a hat, almost a century old, and wonder where it has been; picture the heads it has sat upon?
Would you put a message in a bottle? Do you think there is someone who would read it? Or instead, would you wrap your coat around you and leave the shoreline?
Do you think perhaps, one day, you’ll look up at a starry night, and finally realise?