Clouds of Changing Seasons
Staring at the coast, I saw the clouds grow. The sea was calm, the sky not so.
The distant trees breathe, and hawthorns bleed the colour red.
The grasses light, white, so bright as silver birches and horse chestnuts start losing weight.
A fist to the sky, bruised, hurt, shuddering then falling apart.
The storm argues with the sun as the weeping carries on.
