I want to celebrate the tiny, the magnificently inconsequential,
the epically minute.
The stepped on and stepped over,
the steppes found on a grain of sand,
the walked past and walked over, the (knowingly) unknown.
All ignored, discarded, apparently irrelevant,
the minutiae that we can’t spare the time for.
All the stuff that gets swept up with the autumn winds,
blown into the hedgerow or over the cliffs edge
into the – sea, it falls.
Scrubbed clean from monochrome lawn and Betjamin patio,
consigned to the leaf pile along with the hedgehog.