QUEUING CLOUDS

Row upon row of clouds quietly queue overhead. There seems no beginning nor end to this queue. Just 1 amorphous congregation of cloud. As a nation who loves a queue, why can't clouds, too? They shuffle by.

I remain slightly puzzled yet I'm assured of clearer skies come Tuesday.

CROSSING SIGNS

There once was a 'School Crossing' sign:

Where whole schools would cross neatly in line.

It was meant for small children,

But this was whole buildings,

Running away at home time!

THE STUBBORN GRASS

Autumn hasn't quite yet moved in but it already has plans for the place. The mornings seem darker as the night slowly overstays its welcome.  The grass doesn't grow with such energy as before. As if it's been handed a redundancy letter and it's stubbornly working out its notice.

PASSING TIME - AN APOLOGY

Passing Time will softly brush against us. We are two busy commuters heading in opposite directions. We hardly feel Passing Time as we quickly move forward. But sometimes Time will bump into us: forcing us to stop and reflect, while we apologise for rushing off into the future.

WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHY

I wake to a hotchpotch, higgledy-piggledy sky. White and grey cloud jostle for attention like two mothers-in law being photographed at a wedding. I scan the sky for hints of blue. There they are, right at the back. Like two fathers-in-law being photographed at a wedding.

MOTTLED MEMORIES

I see the morning's cold and mottled cloud;

from memory it blotches and it ploughs,

from cold and mottled legs when I was young,

from chasing love on school cross-country runs.

and how I did chase after her in vain;

and how my vapoured breath did briefly pierce that stinging rain,

and how before I even knew of words like 'unrequited',

I found the flame of early love was cold and unignited.

RAIN OVER US

It looks as if the sky has been ironed. Every cloud has been neatly pressed into one, big, wrinkle-free cloud. It's flown above us all. An inscrutable sky. Neither dawn nor day but somewhere or some time in between. This is where we slip briefly through the cracks of normality.

AT THE NEXT STOP...

Battleship grey clouds scour an ocean sky looking for a fight. Friday's varnish will take time to dry. The sound of a distant, passing train quickens the heart, fuelling my desire to explore the endless possibilities of travel. Then I remember the next stop is Milton Keynes.

FAINT OUTLINES

The faint outline of houses appear in our street just before dawn. They're almost childlike in their rendering. A square, a roof, no more. But then the morning's still childlike. Its young fingers have to sketch a whole new world.

Today I hope that it sketches me slimmer.

THE COST OF VIEWING

Due to the cost of living crisis I couldn't afford the view from my window this morning. The price of views has gone through the roof, recently. I used to be able to look out all day. Now, I can rarely afford to see anything before about 9pm, and by then it's already dark!