Morning mist

the way ahead,

usually meandering gently between the bridges

instead vanishes into the damp muting white

Crows

Two big black crows stalk the garden

one has a beak full of gathered catkins

the other picks at the dry grass

Adventure playground

Watching the children on the rope bridge

I fancy I can see my boys hanging

and shouting amongst them

eyes shining and determined to be the last

to climb down.

Random Hail

the sky pelts me spitefully with tiny hailstones

Ash wednesday

a lady stops to show me

the smudge of black on her forehead

I am politely bemused

magpies

four magpies feasting in the gutter

scatter to the four winds at my approach