I stand in front of my dryer, watching the dial slowly wind. The squeaking joints sound like frenzied birds in search of release.
There is life left in the old girl, but you can hear the end is near.
The time will come, wasted and worn, where man and machine will find a final resting place on the scrap heap.
If those apocalyptic films are anything to go by, one will be the cause of the other.
Born beneath the Southern Cross, Michael Murdoch a.k.a. the mouse, is a poet and fiction writer, who chased love to his new home under the Northern Lights.
He resides in Helsinki with his wife and three children.
You can find a selection of his works at The Twisting Tail. https://murdochmouse.wordpress.com/