Hole In The Hedgerow

Art as a kid

My eyes hovered just above paper

Watching the ink bleed into the white

So amused I was by paper and ink

Not by the surface

But into it, as it soaked up blue and red

And all I cared for was the spread

Of colour

From white to red

Of the way the ink bled

Then one day

From further away

My eyes became shallow

On and not in the paper

Questioning the worthiness of the ink

At its merits and its depth as it spread

Worrying about the end where the lines were going

Not present with the ink as it bled

I wish I could be present again

A kid who forgets there’s time

Who scribbles

With eyes not on but in the paper