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Futures

November 11, 2018

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Silent rain washes the near view –
even swans have put their heads
to bed. White questions marks on

the tea-brown Exe. November’s fall,
sodden beneath baring branches
is quietly lifeless; seeping futures into

sparkling grass. Yesterday, amber,
bronze and burnished woodlands
rattled their canopies, showering

leaves. Sycamore, oak, birch and
willow – scents of the year darkening
underfoot. Closer to home, a flash of

Cyclamen, and overhead, blue chinks.
Our fingers touch. Another ladybird
crawls up the pane; and the rain stops.

From → Uncategorized

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