Odd

Between 7.20 this morning when I went out for a paper, and 8.30 when I drew the front room curtains, a tent appeared on the grass bank opposite my house.

Not pegged down, it has blown, flown?, in from somewhere, some other direction to South where I walked earlier.
Black with re piping, it is unattached, its guy ropes dangling, rolling against the hedge.

As I gaze, amazed, a cyclist goes past, turns his head to wonder too.


But between starting to type this and now, (less than ten minutes - I am well-practised) it has steadied, it has turned, it has become grounded.

And three heads, youthful, male, peer out from below the unzipped nylon door flap.