Thursday, May 3, 2012

Coming Home



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.

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