Wind

When it's windy, random things are sometimes blown to our door. Today I noticed laurel leaves from up the street where Ken has been chopping the bush outside their house. Usually it's just waste paper or plastic packaging, sometimes the print-off of a paper lad's round, a crumpled invoice or a shopping list but a few days ago this appeared:-

Who wrote it and who to? I have no idea. It's just a random found document from suburbia. If you can't read it, it says this:

" I'm very sorry to hear that Simon died of cancer he was always a good man.

I was worried about making it up for the funeral as I'm schizophrenic and it's been flaring up recently so I didn't think I'd make it (and it was months ago)

Art therapy is what I do now. I hope to be an artist at some point

Take care"

There's something rather sad and yet heartening about that message. If my imagination were more fertile and my ability more profound, it could have been the spark to ignite a novel or at least a radio play.