Redwing Tseep Tseep of redwing, out of the dark over the high street Of an autumn seaside town - and again, after one car comes then goes away. On the ground, mystery holds the swinging Pukka Pie Takeaway sign in a hover just back and away from upright. You watch, holding your ticket, the only one out there, outside the empty shop, on a chair, in a mask. Hungry but you can wait. Redwing tseep changes things, you note - in its thinness, in its closeness to silence and nothing. It brings in winter. Brings remembrance Of responsibilities, to the dark side, to the moon. It slows down steps To a stroll that will breathe when you go away from there with your food. As you do, after a while, into night street solitude. Into yourself. Into slow Stride past windows, your boots doing their heel tap, soul whisper on stone.
Martin Towers recently moved from Northern Ireland to Wales where he works as a support worker. Moths are a big thing for him, his favourite being the Angle Shades.