Mortar Souls

Biting blue bright day. No snow on the lowlands though.

The wean was more reluctant to take a wee drive with me today but he relented after my guilt trip: 'I won't be around forever and 50 years from now you may think: if only I went on more of those trips with dad.' 

A quick whirl around the nearby suburbs then to the secret park, where I was brought up short by this gable: that lovely stained grey brown, glinting with star-flecks of mica. Then a darting winged shadow dropping past, an afterthought.