In the east,
shining white
windmills
stand still
against the high blue
fading to softest
pink,
holding
their breath,
waiting
for winter
southerlies.
In the west,
a child’s black-pencilled
seagulls
rise up from
their meal
in the remains
of the maize field
and fly toward
the sun
setting in
the luminescent
gold-edged, apricot
sunset.
A lopsided
pale silver
moon
watches,
quizzically.
ps I love living where I do, and coming home is always a joy - but particularly tonight.
No comments:
Post a Comment