floating tangles
and bubbly foam.
Swans racing
The togetherness
Of aqua.
Sallow splashes
Poplars tremble
And minds drift.
Jungle of reeds
On vertical plane
Moorhen hideout.
Anon.
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