From the recording Snow on Northern Hills


The morning sun rising over Eastgate
in the early autumn sky
over the red brick terraces
that frame the square
The lorries break the quiet
changing gear making deliveries

The buzz and aromas of breakfast
at the starting of the day
Draw me to a corner street café
beneath the square
a late night reveler skips by
and I wonder why

The early crowds fill up the alleys
like the rising of the tide
And jostle the canvas wooden stalls
to catch a deal
the neighbours stop to swap the news
among the diesel fumes

A love weary couple go strolling
in the long light afternoon
Staring at the medals from the war in Italy
a baby cries and Mum drinks tea
below the canopy

A lonely old tourist leans forward
dusting titles in the record bin
Just like an explorer
stranded in the deserts of the Nile
and granma stops to check her list
for anything she missed

the canvas and the frames begin to disappear
and the cobbles bounce
reflections off the moon
the lamps inside the windows
spill out in the gloom
signaling the ending of the day
the taxi drivers sit and stare
not going anywhere