Playing tennis for the first time in four months
and running backwards, I tripped over something,
fell on my bum. No doubt funny for some
to see but the bolt of electricity
that shot up my spine made me roll to one side
and back to the other trying to flee the pain.
And then lie still. End of game.

Quickly the other players gathered round
to chip in advice and serve as needed.
One lady even made tentative ground
strokes but due to the crush receded.
For a moment there, through the stand of shins
(and some attractive calves),  I saw
a strange sour-faced old wizened guy waiting
apart at the back of the court.

At last I winced and groaned to my feet,
drove slowly, painfully home;
full length on the sofa gives some relief
but blowing my nose, a cough or sneeze
electocutes my frame.
I roll from the sofa on to my knees
and pray he's punished for being to blame.

Is this the future? A damaged spine?
Or just a foretaste of old age?
Never again the stairs two at a time.
Just bitter helpless rage.
I want to go back to before I fell.
I swear and curse him every day.
It's all that bastard's fault. What the hell
was he doing with a scythe there anyway ?

Ditchling Beacon

Half an hour up here on the hill
is hardly forty days in the desert. Still,
the spread and distance of the view
and some appreciation of the time
geology took to form it will
challenge bigger egos than mine.

Now, however, realising
just how insignificant we are
doesn't conjure up some God King
whose Intelligent Design proceeds
beyond our human understanding.
Instead, the scale of nature feeds

our curiosity to know
exactly what exists and why and how
it works. We've ditched old miracles
like watery feats and even resurrection.
We no longer need to show
mastery of the supernatural.

Discovering even stars are born
and die leaves our eternity forlorn.
Now miracles are that the universe
exists plus so many unplanned
species of life on Earth ( and one
of them begins to understand ).