JAMIE’S PLACE FOR STUFF

A Stroll Though Memory, Time and Politics With Stops Along The Way

Last Chances

20 November 2025

Fall, even the name says down

Crushed into the earth.

The leaves of autumn become

No more than mulch, sacrificing what has been

To a future spring.

Foot falls, damp, the lamps of

Twilight wash sidewalks

Already wet with fog.

Old songs filter through

The air thick with might have been.

Low moaning of horns and whining of clarinets

Speak of places at the end of a bar,

Old movies, and mysterious women in black

A time when gravity finally wins

To take hold of a year almost done.

About Me

Retired great grandmother living in the Northwest US. Former radio Public Service Director and National Accounts Manager.

I’m a hair-dishevelled heilan’ coo,
Hamish McKay be ma name;
Welcome tae this dreichet glen
I’m cursed tae ca’ ma hame.
Depending on the mood I’m in
I’ll raise ma horns on high,
An’ if I like the look o’ ye
I’ll likely let ye by.
But should I dinnae like the look
O’ ye, then tak great care,
I’ll raise ma horns on high again,
Go on, get oot o’there!
So whether welcome yae or nae,
I’ll raise these horns sae mean,
Then ye shall ken ma meaning
By the twinkle o’ ma een.

Courtesy of
MARION GRAY Wollaton Road Wollaton Park Nottingham