Grey clouds smudge the skies,
like a small child learning to write his alphabet.
Grey skies oppress me, bear down on me.
Stumbling on cobbles, I climb hump-backed bridges,
watch raindrops bounce, falling
then sinking into inky waters.
Light gleams from shop windows,
falls in yellow pools on the pavement;
white lights string out along the canal.
Darkness descends on wet streets, feeding depression.
The bitter wind probes my upturned collar,
bites hard with its vampire fangs.
Mid-afternoon. The curtain falls; the solstice has arrived,
darkest before dawn. On the shortest day
things can only get better.
Julia Duke