The grey wind blows change in the trees,

quickening time, fading light,

banking cloud and cold.

As the limbs shake the grass turns pale,

the sun now lost,

the day trapped in white.

Tiny rain flecks.

A plain of sun on the ground.

Faint rainbow colours in clouds.

Birds in a dead tree –

Two, eight there at the same time yesterday.

Mostly still, but adjusting their tail feathers to the breeze.

Swivelling their heads sometimes.

A grey sky, with blue and dirty white.

The stars, clouds, rain,

a dark mirror.

A palm of light on the hill,

the tree spires turned honey,

sand softer than air

spilled on the grass.

The chair in yellow light,

bending for ease,

yet still as the land,

worn, but gleaming

in the evening.

A swirling girl in a blue dress

each step new

the flutes and harps are airy as the breeze

when I look into her eyes they are ocean blue

Drifting across the sky

the stars in their courses

of circling

and forward motion

like a great armada,

each long seperate

from its sister,

and our earth a circle

of water, moving too in

this stream

into darkness

and infinity.

She took the wind’s wings

to a silent land.

The night bells rang

and the lilies let loose

their tendrils from the lake’s floor.

Like a gull she flew,

the dark sea below her.

The plain grey road was lit by the sun,

a mirror, shading in parts by trees.

The morning was still and bright,

on its climb to heat.

A bird swooped over the grass, fluttering

young needles in the hovering air.

The cat wandered towards the fence

and out of view.