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March 2019
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The wind is scouring around the house
Like a worried fox
Turning over
Wooden planks and lifting pots
Soil scattered like dark blood
On the path
Two stoic wood pigeons bedraggled
Ruffled and confused
Tuck themselves into the wall
Balance on unsteady feet
As the gusts hit them
Their heads sink into their hunched shoulders
Two bemused travellers
Rocking
The pear tree trembles
Leafless and bearded with moss
Looking old
Its twisted arthritic branches
Finger the air, shaking and waving
Casting a spell into the grey sky
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