Ebb and flow

Rippled  mud, as the river ebbs and flows; creating its own patterns to soften a harsh industrial scene etched on the near horizon. 

Super cranes stand sentinel, a herd of clanking dinosaurs; alert, scenting the morning breeze for passing prey.

Along the narrow path lace is fading, til nothing but dry twigs remain; marking a season slowly slipping away

Snails creep through crack, crevice and lichen blooms; then up over the channeled wall; sheltered from the blustering breeze and beady eyed birds

Whilst gulls wheel and cry their mournful songs above slow decaying wood and weathered stone

.... And birds gather to sit like pegs on empty washing lines; gazing at a slow sinking sun

Grey skies

I journey to work under ink blue skies that gently fade to pale grey ; washed out and heavy with the endless fall of rain. 

 Now is the season of dirty cloud banked like week old snow by the roadside; darkened mornings and leaf mulch underfoot. Of relentless, buffeting winds; and morning mists that soften harsh lines and erase the familiar; blurring the the horizon as if viewed behind saggy net curtains.

As the temperature drops, faces pale and pinch, and numbness seeps to our very souls.....

... and  we who dread the slow creeping damp, curl beneath heavy quilts, with soft breathing cats, to dream of warm sun on salt kissed skin. 

Rain stops day

Today I fumble with buttons and slip on the sixth step.. Joints stick like rusty locks bonded tight shut by time and creeping damp. Rain has washed away colour, muting the day.

I drive under grey skies that sit heavy on the horizon; obscuring city monoliths and industrial heartlands. Along busy roads brightened by a single sodium lamp; sadly out of synch with the dead eyed poles that line the carriageway.

Ceaseless rain runs in rivulets down the misted window pane; turning an unending trail of rear lights into fragmented gems; whilst the engine idles, and the rhythmic swish of wipers beats out the minutes.

A glimpse of colour catches my eye. Along the footpath, a man appears, idly twirling an impossibly large rainbow striped umbrella as he saunters uncaring into the downpour. He is the only thing moving, and I can't help but wonder if he really is singing in the rain.