Ewen Glass


Everything Feels Beautiful Right Now

Old   beech   trees    blooming   by   17th   century   limestone;  one   of
those thin wispy clouds with not a friend; a tradie's van, its metal
badge a concentrated beam of sunlight; new bus etiquette that
asks you to ring the bell but stay seated until the bus comes to a
stop. There’s care in that, call it society or– Springsteen's Blood
Brothers plays in my headphones as I alight and feel my heart, not
a xenomorph today but nitrogen, full feeling and rising; I’m
carried skyward past beech trees and cloud and I am a
concentrated beam of light until it vanishes when I blink.