Sunday 4am.

This morning, I sat outside at 4 am and everything was completely, almost mystically still. Absolutely quiet; surreally so. I expected to see Daliesque clocks hanging off the gumtrees in the moonlight. No wind, just a curiously light night time word, filled with stars and quiet.

Some times, some moments, it’s difficult to find the profound and the spiritual.

this was not one of those times.


I had been inexplicably thinking of the Poet Kevin Hart all night, so on coming inside I pulled out one his books and found this, which is kind of perfect right now.



Master of light, my God,

Before whom starts tremble

And fall into themselves,


Who glows within each thing

Beyond reach of language

And deeper than silence,


Who passes through the dark

That draws us towards death

And makes it one with you,


Whose light is everywhere

Wherein I stand and see

My shadow disappear.